MoD 2: Renewable
by Alexandria-likethecityinEgypt
Summary: Just ask the cat! Curiosity comes with consequences. Although it's Wally's curiosity, Robin is the one who must pay the price. The 2nd in a series of three: each one a remake of the results that stem from a single event. Original Team. Batman/Justice League. High T for violence/death imagery. 3 Alternate Endings - Last one containing a major character death.
1. Prologue

**This is the 2nd story of the series. I tweaked the end of the Prologue to suit the new storyline. This is NOT a comedy. When in doubt - Keep Reading!**

 **Oh, and btw, I don't own Young Justice . . . But I do own a dog. I'm not sure that my dog is quite relevant to the story, but despite that, she is a pretty great dog all the same. Just thought I'd share. My dog doesn't own Young Justice either.**

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Wally West stood staring at the machine that sat in the middle of the evil scientists' laboratory curiously. Was this why they had been sent here? As usual the covert mission the team had been sent on had ended with an all-out battle. Really, he didn't even know why they bothered trying to be sneaky. It never seemed to work out that way. At least not for him.

"KF?" Robin's frustrated voice called out from the office on one side of the lab. "I haven't found anything on the files that Batman wanted us to look for. I think they knew that we were coming and wiped the hard drives of everything having to do with the Red Sun Radiation Laser. I've checked every computer on this floor and the mainframe, but there is nothing here."

Oh yeah, Wally thought. The laser was supposed to strip the powers of Superman for hours or was it a couple of days? Whatever it was, it was bad news! It was also why Superboy was told to sit out this mission. Connor was hating life back at the cave at the moment, and Wally knew that tomorrow they would be having to replace all of the punching bags the cave held.

"Well, then, what's _this_ thing? I mean, if the bad guys are building it, you can pretty much consider it a sure thing that it isn't the answer to world hunger. If we can't get the Red Sun Laser thing, maybe we can figure this thing out." Wally suggested.

It looked like a laser. A really big one, or maybe some kind of gun. It had an end that looked like it meant business after all.

Robin frowned at him. "Sorry, KF. I know you're curious, but that's not our mission. Stay focused, dude. Not finding the Red Sun Laser or any of its research is a bad thing; especially for Superman and Superboy!"

Wally nodded absently, but couldn't pull his eyes from the machine in front of him. He had been studying it for a while and thought he figured out how to turn it on. He pressed the switch and the machine hummed to life. _Whoa_! _That was awesome_!

"Wally," Robin hissed. "Seriously, dude. Turn it _off_!"

"It'd be nice if the mission wasn't a complete failure, you know?" he said. "And how do you know that this thing isn't the Red Sun doohickey?"

Robin shot him a look. "Doohickey? Really? I thought you knew something about science."

Wally shrugged. "I didn't want to confuse you with all the technical terms. And I _am_ being serious. This thing could be bad news! We should figure it out and maybe dismantle it, or something."

"If it is bad news, wouldn't it be a bad thing to turn it on when you have no idea whether or not it might create earthquakes, or possibly burn off our atmosphere?"

Wally glanced at the Boy Wonder for the first time since spotting his current obsession. "You may have a point there, Rob. Okay, shutting it down now."

"Good," Robin glanced over toward the wall of windows opposite of where he was standing and saw a small, silver laptop sitting next to a silver briefcase on the counters that ran along the wall. "Hey, how'd we miss _that_ ," he asked as he moved between two laboratory work benches to reach it; inadvertently crossing in front of the Wally's machine o' doom.

At that moment, Wally touched the switch that he had decided would turn the machine off, but instead of shutting down, the complicated device emitted a high-pitched whine and suddenly a burst of white energy shot forth. There was a cry and a crash, but the brilliant light had blinded him, and Wally had to fumble around for the switch that had been his second choice. After a moment, the light disappeared and Wally was blinking hard to rid his vision of dark spots.

"Rob?" Wally called out. He swallowed the bile that threatened to choke him as he shoved his panic down. He couldn't afford to panic now. "Robin?"

" _Robin, Kid Flash! What was that light? We could see it from out here_ ," Aqualad's voice sounded in his head. " _Are you all right_?"

By now the spots had cleared enough that Wally could see the hole in the wall opposite the machine. The wall around it was cracked and blackened. But what he couldn't see was Robin!

" _Oh, God . . ."_

" _Kid Flash, what happened_? _What was that light that flashed just a moment ago_?" Kaldur voice in his head was harsh with worry. " _Robin, answer me! Kid Flash! Are you both all right_?"

Wally yanked himself out of his shock, and raced over to where Robin had been standing only a moment before. He stared at the spot; horror washing over him.

" _Oh no_ . . ." Wally's moan sent a wave of dread throughout the team.

" _Hang on_! _I'm coming up_!" Kaldur told him via the Martian mind-link. " _Artemis, stay here and keep watch over these men. M'gann, continue searching for information on the Red Sun Laser._ "

" _Oh God_ . . . _What have I done_?"

" _Wally_?"

The young speedster broke the connection.

This couldn't be happening!

Wally bent down and, with a shaking hand, picked up the only thing left of his best friend: Robin's boot.

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	2. Pt 1

**Warning: Some Graphic Images**

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Kid Flash raced to the broken wall. He was afraid to look through it; afraid of what he would find. He summoned his courage and stepped through the hole. He couldn't chicken out now; Rob needed him. Guilt swamped him.

The room next to the lab was dark, but the moonlight coming through the windows and the florescent lighting spilling through the hole behind him were just enough for Wally to see the gloved hand, a bare foot, and a portion of black and yellow cape that extended beyond the edges of a battered workstation. Wally's chin quivered; a much slower motion than the normal nervous vibrations he often had when scared. He moved quickly. Robin would need help . . . He hoped.

The moan he let out at the sight of his best friend sounded loud in the room. Suppressing a sob, Wally dropped to his knees beside the younger boy; Robin's perfect boot falling to the floor from numb fingers, and contrasting horribly against what bits of uniform had been unlucky enough to remain attached to its owner.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," he whispered. "Rob, I'm so sorry."

He reached out a hand to feel for a pulse, terrified that he wouldn't find one. Robin looked dead. He was so still and his head lay at an odd angle. The blackened skin that indicated third degree burns covered his chest where his uniform had been blasted away. Blood pooled beneath his head; ran from his nose and mouth. Tears blurred Wally's vision mercifully, but it was too late; the sight of the broken boy would remain in his mind forever.

"Kid Flash! Robin? Where are you?" Kaldur's voice rang out from the other room.

 _I can't find it_. Wally picked up a limp arm and carefully pulled off the ragged, black glove. He searched anew for a pulse. _I can't find it_.

Wally couldn't speak around the lump in his throat; the one that threatened to cut off his breathing. If he tried, he knew he would scream. He knew it! He felt as though his life had just ended alongside that of his friend.

 _Nothing will ever be the same again_ , he thought miserably.

"Robin? Kid Flash? Are you in here?" Aqualad called from beyond the hole in the wall.

"I can't find it, Kaldur," he choked.

"What can't you find, Kid," Aqualad asked as he peered into the darkened room through the hole.

Wally swallowed hard and leaned back on his heels. "Call Batman," he rasped out although his throat felt like it was closing up on him.

"What?" Kaldur asked as he climbed through the hole.

"I said . . . _Call Batman_!" Unable to contain his emotions any longer, Wally yelled. His voice broke, however, and he gave into the urge to wail.

Kaldur's frown gave way to the slack expression of utter disbelief.

"What happened," he croaked, dropping to his knees beside Wally.

He held out a hand, but couldn't bring himself to touch the boy he had called friend. It hovered above Robin uselessly. The blood that ran down his face was slowing. _Great Poseidon_ , Aqualad realized that this was indicative of death. With no pulse, there was nothing to push the blood out of the body anymore.

Kid Flash opened his mouth to speak, but choked instead on a sob. He bent over in his grief and guilt; his hands going up to tear at his hair, to pound against his forehead. His fault. His fault. Rob was dead and it was all his fault.

"Wally! Stop!" Kaldur was startled by the extreme reaction of his friend and teammate. He knew the two were best friends, but this self-abuse was something he had never expected to discover within the younger boy. He grabbed Wally's wrists in order to prevent more violence against himself.

Kaldur glanced once more at Robin, to be sure, before he summoned Batman. The blood from Robin's nose and mouth couldn't even be called a trickle now. He dropped one hand to his belt.

"Aqualad to Justice League. Come in, Justice League. Aqualad, B02, priority red."

As Kaldur contacted the League, he stared at the team's youngest member with sadness. Robin had been the first of them . . . As he watched, the blackened char that coated his chest flaked. The slightest of breezes lifted the charred skin and it fluttered away. A bright, hot pink color lay beneath.

"Aqualad, this is Wonder Woman. What is the problem?"

"The mission is a failure," he choked. "We need Batman. Please, send us Batman."

"Batman is currently unavailable. I can send Green Lantern."

"No!" Aqualad caught himself yelling. He struggled for control. He thought he was prepared for anything, but nothing could have prepared him for this. "It must be Batman!" His voice dropped to a whisper, as if he couldn't bear to admit it out loud. "There has been a . . . Th-there has been a . . . A casualty."

There was a pause. "You mean, there has been an injury."

"I know what I said." Aqualad told her in a flat tone.

"What is that noise in the background, Aqualad," Wonder Woman's voice softened.

"Kid Flash," he told her, unsurprised she had heard the distraught speedster. "Please, Wonder Woman. Batman needs to come."

Another slight hesitation followed his request.

"I-I see. I'll contact him. Expect to see him shortly. Do you have need of backup in the meantime?"

"W-we . . . Maybe you should send the Flash, as well. But Batman . . . He might need . . . someone."

"Hera, preserve them. I will contact both Flash and Batman . . . And I'll send . . . other support as well."

Aqualad sighed brokenly. He, too, wanted nothing more than to grieve, but he was the team's leader. He had to keep it together for a little longer. Another flake lifted up on the nearly non-existent breeze and floated away as if it were a down feather rather than a brittle piece of blackened skin. Another small beacon of hot, bright pink glared tauntingly as it was exposed.

"Hurry," Aqualad whispered before severing the connection.

More flaking crisps came loose and lifted up. It was too much to bear.

Aqualad stood up. Never had such a simple action require so much effort. It was as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders. He laid a hand on Wally's back.

"I am going to wait for them in the lab," he told the grieving boy. "Perhaps it might be best if you came with me."

Wally shook his head. "I-I can't leave him! He'd be all alone!"

"H-he . . . is not here anymore, Kid," Kaldur murmured. "Please. I cannot breathe in here. It is like there is no air in this room at all. I would feel better if you came with me, Wally. Please."

Reluctantly, Wally stood. His knees shook; not vibrated, but shook. The two teens clambered clumsily over the rubble between Robin and the hole in the wall, holding onto one another in a desperate effort to keep themselves from crumbling completely.

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	3. Pt 2 - Superman

**No, I don't own Superman or Wonder Woman either.**

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"Superman. Come in."

"Little busy here, Diana. Can it wait?" Superman picked up three people stranded in the burning building and flew them to safety; setting them down near several ambulances for the paramedics to treat.

"No, it can't, Clark. Can you finish it up in the next minute, because I need you elsewhere?"

Superman scanned the building with his x-ray vision and verified that there was no one left inside. "Okay, give me a minute then."

He took a great breathe and blew it out with a powerful force that overwhelmed the fire within seconds and putting it out. He scanned the building once more for signs that he might have missed something. Satisfied, he flew down to the fire department captain in charge.

"Captain Donnelly, I put out the fire throughout the building, but there are still a few hot spots that might spontaneously reignite on floors five, seven, and twelve. All are located near or around the elevators." Superman moved to the hood of the fire inspector's vehicle where blueprints of the fifteen story building were laid out. He then pointed out each spot for him. "You might want send your crews up to check those places out and finish up."

"Thank you, Superman," Donnelly said. "If you ever decide on a career change, let me know. I think that maybe we could find an opening for you with the fire department."

Superman smiled and waved as he lifted off. "I'll keep that in mind, Captain," he said, and with that he flew up into the air like a shot.

"Okay, Diana," he hit his com link. "What's the emergency that couldn't wait?"

"I need you to pick up Batman in Gotham City and take him to the Illuminati Labs located in Cerano Bay, Massachusetts. It is just north of Boston."

"What's going on there, and why can't Bruce get there himself," Superman asked as he turned in the direction of Gotham.

"He sent the team there to retrieve information about the possible existence of a Red Sun Laser."

Clark blinked. "Red Sun?"

"It's reported to do exactly what you think it does. But they didn't find the research they were looking for nor apparently the laser itself, so it's safe enough for you to go there." Diana's voice floated through the com link, reassuring him. "But Batman is going to need you to be there for him."

"If the team didn't find anything, why would Batman need me?"

Wonder Woman sighed over the com link. "Something went wrong while the team was there, Clark . . . Someone . . ."

"Diana?" Clark frowned at the long pause.

"There was an . . . incident? Clark, someone . . . died." Clark could hear the hitch in Wonder Woman's voice through the link. "I don't know the specifics, but despite that Aqualad was clear enough. Batman is needed there. And he's going to _need_ someone with him."

"No." Clark's perfect vision blurred for his friend, and even more for the boy he'd come to think of as his nephew. "Does . . . Does he know yet? Have you contacted him?"

"This wasn't something I wanted to relay through a com link. I was kind of hoping that you . . . You're his friend, Clark."

Yes, yes, he was, but this was one time that being friends with the Batman wasn't a benefit. Clark rubbed his eyes to clear them, and sped up.

"How is the team doing," he asked.

"I'm sending Flash as well. Kid Flash . . . Wally, I could hear him in the background through the link and I could tell that he was having a particularly hard time."

"What about . . . Superboy? Is Conner with them?"

Superman wasn't sure what his feelings about the clone was yet, but Robin had been one of his liberators from Cadmus. The clone hadn't any experience handling grief yet, however, and as Kryptonian, how he decided to handle the emotionally charged situation could have a tremendous impact on property values in the surrounding area. He hoped that the boy wouldn't be so out of control that innocents might get hurt.

"No. No, he's still at Mt. Justice," came Diana's reply. "He was told to sit this one out."

Red Sun Laser . . . It would affect the boy as well.

"Okay. Make sense," he said. Good. That was one less thing to worry about at the moment.

"It might be better if the news came from you. You know, when Conner finds out."

Oh, yeah, that would be just _great_ coming from him. He barely acknowledged the boy now, and Clark was expected to deliver the news of his teammate's death?

"I don't see how you figure that, Diana." It was bad enough that he was going to have to tell his friend that his son was gone. His only connection to Superboy was in his DNA; hardly enough to make him the best deliverer of bad news.

"Well, you must see that your presence at least would be a good idea." Diana sharp comment came through loud and clear.

"Yes," he reluctantly agreed. "I do see that." It was why he had inquired about the boy in the first place. But he _really_ didn't want to do this.

"I instructed Aqualad to not to tell him until you were present."

So, it didn't actually matter what his thoughts on the subject were. His presence was required. Clark grimaced.

Speaking of things he really didn't want to do . . . Gotham City was looming larger and larger in the distance as Superman rapidly approached. He immediately began to scan the city for the person he was searching for. He was so not looking forward to this . . . Clark suddenly found himself wishing for an alien invasion or an earthquake or tidal wave. Something, _anything_ really, that would require the attention of Superman and allow him to put this herculean task off a little while longer.

He was the strongest man on the planet, but he didn't feel strong _enough_ . . . Not for this.

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	4. Pt 3 - A Terrible Misunderstanding

**Warning: Maybe one little word . . .**

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The Batmobile squealed as it rounded the corner sharply. Its specialized tires, traction, and suspension system ensured a minimal amount of drifting. The car ahead of him wasn't so lucky and it slid across the center line causing several oncoming vehicles to sideswipe each other in an effort to avoid a head on collision.

He needed to bring this chase to an end soon before someone was killed. The car he was chasing pulled onto the freeway. At this time of night, traffic was minimal. It would likely be his best opportunity to stop them without causing havoc. He downshifted for more power. The car's growl deepened and the corresponding roar reflected audibly the burst of power.

Suddenly a blue and red blur smashed into the hood of the crooks' vehicle causing it to flip over. Batman hit the brakes and pulled the emergency brake as he spun the steering wheel in order to prevent smashing into them. The Batmobile skidded sideways in a quarter of a circle so that he was facing the action from the side rather than behind.

Superman caught the car in mid-flip, flew upward and slammed it down hard enough that all four tires burst on impact as the wheels bent and the car came to rest on the pavement on its undercarriage. When he landed beside it, he plunged his fingers through the top of the windshield safety glass and then ripped windshield, roof and the back windshield off of the vehicle in one smooth, albeit violent, move. He tossed it over two lanes to land completely clear of traffic off the side of the road.

Batman was approaching when he heard the Man of Steel growl at the ruined vehicle's occupants. He noted the Kryptonian's eyes were glowing red as he made his offer. Something had upset him . . . He had seldom ever seen Clark so close to losing his temper. Batman's mind immediately switched gears from the criminals in the car to whatever had the alien in such a disturbing mood. It had to be something on a planetary scale, he determined, for Clark to act like this.

"Anyone care to run?" Superman snarled at the four men in the car.

The criminals' hands were shaking so hard that they couldn't hold their weapons well enough to either use them or toss them. As it was, the guns tumbled to the floor of the car out of nerveless fingers. Batman had to admit, it was times like these when he envied the Kryptonian's strength.

Clark looked at him. "What do you need from them?"

"Information about an incoming drug shipment," Batman told him.

Superman glared at the four men with the dangerous glow returning to his eyes. "You have five seconds to comply," he growled.

Those five seconds were spent spilling the contents of their bladders before the men stumbled all over themselves spilling every bit of information they had. This wasn't the regular blue and red Boy Scout the world was used to.

"Got everything you need," Superman asked.

"Yes. Thank you," Batman replied carefully. The video in his cowl would send a recording back to the Batcave. "Hopefully the police will be here soon to pick this trash up," he commented, pulling out several sets of cuffs.

Clark lifted his head for a moment. "I'd say about five minutes from the sounds of the sirens."

He lifted the broken vehicle and flew it out of the path of traffic and set it to the side of the road next to its roof.

"Duck your heads," he instructed.

The criminals barely had time to comply before Superman slammed the roof back down over the car. The four men had to lay on their sides to avoid bumping into the roof. Superman used his heat vision to weld the roof to the car. He plunged his fingers into the metal in several places.

He glanced up at Batman. "Airholes," he replied to the unspoken question.

"It will require the fire department and the jaws of life to get them out," Batman remarked casually.

"They can spend the time trapped in here contemplating the direction their lives have taken them, then," Superman said. "That's more than other, more-deserving people get."

And then, as if whatever thing he has just said had sparked another flare of unusual emotion, he snarled and kicked the front of the car; sending it spinning several feet along the emergency lane. It was quite a sight to behold, but Batman's gaze remained centered on Superman.

 _Superman doesn't snarl_ . . . Worry begins to nip at the edges of your mind.

The Man of Steel leapt over the three lanes of rubberneckers that were staring and videotaping them with their cellphones. Carefully, he picked up the Batmobile and moved it along the side of the road, safely out of the way of traffic.

Superman turned to him even as Batman stepped closer. The entire encounter from hitting the car until this moment took maybe four minutes; most of that being the time it took the four criminals to give up their Intel.

"What's happened?"

"You're needed," Superman said, even as he wrapped an arm around Batman's waist. They shoot up into the sky like a rocket.

"Talk, Clark," Batman demanded as he touched a control in his belt. The signal would send the batmobile home on auto-pilot. "What are we heading into?"

The angry, determined expression on Clark's face morphs alarmingly into one of sadness and pain. Batman's heart thumped hard once inside of his chest; ice water took the place of blood in his veins.

"The end of the world." Clark's words are whispered so softly that the wind nearly whipped them away before they could reach Batman's ears. But hear it he did.

"I expect you to explain that," he growled. He was tired of not understanding what was going on. He was only just beginning to realize that, whatever the emergency was, it would be earth-shattering.

"Sorry. We're heading to Cerano Bay, Massachusetts," the Kryptonian said as way of explanation. Damn him, if he didn't look as if he were going to cry!

But the implication was immediate. "The Team. What happened?"

Batman's first thought was that the team had disobeyed his order; that they had taken Superboy with them and found the Red Sun Laser with devastating results. It would explain Superman's presence, even though he had yet to acknowledge more than the clone's existence. Yet if the Red Sun Laser was still a danger, the last thing Superman needed was to place himself into that weapon's line of sight.

Superman glanced at Batman, and then looked forward again. Batman didn't miss the pity in that pained look. Suddenly his thoughts took a much more personal turn. The ice water in his veins froze completely as his heart seemed to stop in his chest. A hard knot formed in his stomach. _No_ . . .

"Robin?" His voice broke over the name.

"I-I'm sorry, Bruce," Clark whispered. "You can't know how sorry I am."

His eyes widened behind his lenses.

"No," he said. "No."

No. He refused to believe it. Not until he saw the boy himself. He had trained Dick hard; gave him rules to follow to avoid just this outcome. And the boy was _smart_! He had outsmarted criminals hundreds of times over the course of his five years as Robin. He wouldn't be caught unawares like this. Batman knew it.

Clark was mistaken. He had to be. He had misheard the information and came to the wrong conclusion. For all of his abilities, Clark could still make mistakes.

"You must have misunderstood," Batman said; his voice hard and flat.

Bruce Wayne remained huddled and hidden inside the steel exterior of the Batman, safe temporarily from what had to be a horrible, terrible mistake. But as angry as mistakes could make him, he thought he could forgive this one, despite how horrible it was; how awful. Everyone made mistakes . . . To err was human and all of that. Clark wasn't even human. His penchant for making mistakes _had_ to be even higher. But Batman could forgive this mistake . . . because that was all it was . . . a mistake.

"Fly faster," he growled.

That was _all_ this was.

It _had_ to be.

Just a mistake.

One, big, terrible misunderstanding.

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	5. Pt 4 - Implications

**No Warnings . . . Some POV changes to pay attention to. I separated them out with lines.**

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"I wonder what is taking them so long," Artemis grumbled.

"They broke the link," M'gann complained. "I haven't been able to reach any of them."

"And that doesn't worry you?"

"Yes, but I can't just force them into the link. Aqualad broke it for a reason," M'gann told her. "We should trust them."

"Or," Artemis said, "they ran into trouble and they are all unconscious."

M'gann looked at her, torn between the orders that Aqualad had given them and going after them as Artemis was suggesting. Biting her lip, she came to a decision. She looked at all of the technicians and security guards they had rounded up. The technicians weren't confined in any way but the guards all wore zip cuffs.

"Everyone sit, please," she said to the ones still standing on the lawn. When only a few of the technicians followed her command and none of the security, M'gann's eyes glowed and she repeated the command. "Sit."

Everyone sat.

"Sleep." M'gann said.

The men and women all slumped or fell back onto the lawn immediately.

Artemis looked at M'gann with raised eyebrows. "Okay, that's a little scary how easy that was for you. Will they wake up?"

"Not on their own," M'gann told her.

 _Okay, make that very scary_ , Artemis corrected in her head.

The two were turning to go inside after their teammates when a shadow passed between the moon and them. They looked up to see Superman and Batman landing behind them.

"What's happened," Batman demanded, striding forward with a quick, determined gait. "Where's Robin?"

The girls glanced at each other and then back at their mentor.

"We don't know. Aqualad ordered us to watch these guys," Artemis waved a hand to encompass the lawn of employees, "and then severed the link several minutes ago. We just decided to go after him and see what the hold up is."

"What's wrong with them," Superman asked, eyeing the people lounging on the lawn.

"I put them to sleep," M'gann explained. "They aren't harmed, but will only wake up when I command it."

Superman frowned. "What would happened if you were seriously wounded or killed? Would they remain asleep indefinitely?"

"If I were simply unconscious, yes," she told him. "The command is strong enough to prevent them from waking up. But if I were to die, they would eventually wake on their own when their bodies required them to in order to eat or drink. It isn't meant to be permanent."

Superman nodded his approval. M'gann blushed, but then she was all business again as they turned to follow Batman into the building. It was unusual to see Batman so impatient. She and Artemis had to rush to catch up. They caught up to him at the elevators.

* * *

"Which way," Batman demanded. He didn't want to waste time searching the entire complex. It wasn't large as far as labs went, WayneTech had labs that were nearly ten times the size of this one, but the building was at least three stories and a basement level and took up two entire acres by itself.

"We saw a flash of light from a lab on the third story," Artemis told him, reaching over to press the elevator button. Two elevator doors opened. The group of four entered one of them.

"What do you know?"

The girls flinched under the sharpness of his command. He would be sorry for that later, but not now. Right now, his stomach roiled uncomfortably and his nerves were fraying quickly. Somewhere in this building his son was hurt, possibly dying, if he wasn't dead already.

Batman shook his head. No. He refused to think that way. He couldn't if he wanted to be able to continue functioning. He worried a bit that should this . . . _rumor_ be substantiated, he would simply shut down.

No, this was just a mistake. He was sure of it.

He would find his son and have Superman fly them both to Mount Justice's medical facilities. If necessary, he could use the zeta tubes to take Robin up to the Watchtower. The boy would be fine. Everything would be fine. He had more than eight billion dollars he could to put toward that outcome. He could liquidate Wayne Towers, his fleet of cars, and even the manor if needed to ensure that outcome.

Death was too final. None of his money or resources or power could change death, and he refused to believe that it had come to that. His son was counting on him, and he would _not_ let him down; _by God, he would not_!

* * *

"This way," Artemis said, indicating their left.

There was a breeze and suddenly Flash was standing next to them.

"WhatsgoingonDianacalledandsaidtherehadbeenanincidentandWallyneededme." Flash said.

"Slow down, Flash," Superman told him as they moved to follow Batman. "Something's happened, but we don't know what yet. Diana said that Wally was upset and needed you. That something had happened to . . . Um," Superman's eyes flicked up toward Batman's back.

Flash's gaze followed and his eyes widened. "Hurt?"

Superman's expression turned grim.

"Oh, God," Flash groaned. "Oh no."

Artemis glanced at the two heroes. "What are you two talking about? What happened? And how do you guys know before we do?"

"Aqualad contacted the Watchtower," Superman said simply. He didn't know how to tell the girls any more than he knew how to tell Batman or Superboy. How the hell did he get suckered into being the bearer of bad news anyway?

"But he broke communication with us? That doesn't make sense," Artemis frowned. "Why would he do that? Why would he feel as though we needed . . ." Her mouth dropped open in shock as she began to piece things together in her head. _Kid Flash's reaction_? _Aqualad's sudden communication blackout._ _Why these particular heroes might be needed._

"Who?" Her voice squeaked. _Batman's unusually gruff demeanor and lack of patience_. She knew even as she forced herself to ask. "Robin?"

"No," M'gann whispered. _That can't be right_! But like Artemis, she was putting together the clues and this was the only thing that made sense. But what could have happened?

They had rounded up everyone! M'gann had checked herself for other living beings in the building before Robin and Kid Flash had entered to conduct their search while Aqualad and she had conducted interrogations outside and Artemis provided them security to prevent anyone escaping. _Could I have missed someone; someone who could have attacked and killed Robin_?

They entered the lab where the flash of light had occurred seconds after Batman had swept into the room. Kid Flash was bent over in the far corner having a literal breakdown. Aqualad was kneeling beside him attempting to provide some comfort, but the younger boy was having none of it.

It certainly appeared to be dire. Artemis swept the room. Nothing looked damaged or out of place. She noted a small, dirty smudge on the far wall, but it didn't look like there had been a fight here. The other thing missing along with all the damage they had been expecting was Robin. _Where is Robin_?

* * *

Several things happened at once as the group entered the room. Flash sped over to Wally side.

"It's going to be okay, Kid," Flash murmured to the boy even as he wrapped his nephew up in his arms.

"Aqualad, report!" Batman growled, falling back on the safety of protocol. The emotional breakdown of Wally made his heart leap into his throat, but he didn't find what he was expecting to find. _Where is Robin_?

He began moving through the rows of counters, searching. His hands could be seen to be shaking had anyone thought to look. He didn't know whether to be frightened or relieved.

" _No_! No, it won't," Wally wailed. "Robin's _dead_ and it's all _my_ fault!"

That declaration stunned everyone and Batman spun around to face the hysterical, young hero; his worst fears verified. Artemis moaned. M'gann and her hands found one another for support. Superman placed a hand on their shoulders. The young Atlantian jumped up at Flash's appearance and turned reluctantly face Batman; to give his report. Grief etched his face, but his report suddenly halted.

"Batman! We arrived here at . . . Wait! Where did it go?" Aqualad gasped in stunned disbelief. He reached down, and shook Wally's shoulder. "Kid Flash! The hole! It disappeared!"

Wally's head jerked up, and he stared in shock. Shrugging off his uncle's arm, he zipped to the far wall; running his hand over the smudge.

"That is impossible," Kaldur was saying. "How can it be gone? We were here the whole time!"

* * *

Even as Wally watched, the last of the smudge faded from existence as if the wall had never been anything but perfectly whole. He blinked as the implications of this clicked into place.

" ** _Rob_**!" Wally cried out as he spun around.

He raced out the room; the breeze of his exit causing all the loose paper to fly up and rain down upon the group like a freak snowstorm.

* * *

 **Reactions?**

 **Hm, curiouser and curiouser . . . I will try to get the next chapter up before the day is out. I'm pretty sure the cliffhanger from hell is getting pretty stressful by now. Keep reading! I promise, it will be worth it!**


	6. Pt 5 - Miracle

**No Warnings . . .**

* * *

The door was locked.

Batman saw Kid Flash struggling with the door to the next room. He was trying to break it down with his shoulder, but not being successful at it. Blood dripped from of his nose as he had obviously tried and failed to vibrate through it first. Flash laid a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Wait," he said, and one second he was standing there, vaguely blurry, and the next he was opening the door from the inside. He grabbed Wally's arm before he could zip through. "Let Batman go first, Kid."

"B-but . . ." Wally sighed and stepped aside.

Batman wasted no time with the speedsters, although he was grateful he could get in to see his son without having to pull Kid Flash out of his way. As it was, He flicked on the overhead lights and took three steps into what was obviously another lab, and halted. He had found him.

"Robin," he said, softly.

Robin looked up from the business of shoving his foot back into his boot.

"Batman?"

* * *

Robin had woken in the darkened room with a gasp. His chest had felt as though it was on fire! He laid his hand across it fully expecting to find a charred, bloody hole, but felt only the cloth-covered armor that made up the front of his costume. Tears had sprung to his eyes the pain was so great, but even as he rolled onto his side into a tight ball of misery, the pain began to ease on its own.

He coughed and groaned; his breaths shallow. The pain was fading faster and faster. Within minutes, Robin pushed himself up into a sitting position and glanced around him; rubbing his neck. He must have been laying funny to make it sore. He twisted his head and there was a loud ' _ **snap**_ ', and the soreness faded away as if it had never been.

"How did I get in here," he asked himself. His voice was naught but a croak. He swallowed, and repeated his question aloud. His voice sounded closer to normal the second time around although his question wasn't any nearer to being answered.

He stood up, swaying a moment, and squinted into the dim light that filtered into the room from the moon outside. The lab was similar to almost all the other labs he had gone through that night . . . He assumed it was still the same night. He wondered where Wally had gotten to. He vaguely remember him fiddling with a large laser in a different room; after that, nothing!

His eyes alit on a computer workstation in an adjoining office. He walked over to it; noting for the first time that he was missing a boot. He hesitated only a moment before deciding the mission took precedence over his missing footwear. He waited impatiently for the computer to boot up and then quickly set to hacking the system. In less than a minute, Robin was scrolling through the files.

He paused the cursor over one that was labeled красное солнце. He remembered reading a file in the Batcomputer that had the Russian word for ' _red_ ' in it. That first word in the file's title was ' _red_ '. He clicked onto it and a whole barrage of security popped up all over the screen.

"Whoa," he murmured. "Whatever you are, someone thinks you're very important."

He immediately ran his hacking program. He hadn't found a system yet that could keep him out if he wanted to get in. It took him almost three minutes, which was a lifetime. Normally it never took him longer than 60 seconds to break in, and that last time was the CIA's database after they had upgraded their system from the first time Robin had hacked into it.

The file popped up and the first several of pages of information was all in Russian. красное солнце was sprinkled throughout those pages liberally. Robin's eyes found the Russian word сутки which he knew meant _'twenty-four hours'_. He clicked on more pages until he found a diagram of a laser rifle with the same words under it. He would bet the Batmobile that the second word meant ' _sun_ '.

This was it! This was what they had been searching for! He set to copying the file before leaving behind a computer virus to destroy everything on the system. He couldn't take a chance of leaving anything behind. He hesitated, wondering if he shouldn't save everything he could find on here.

 _Oh well_ , he thought. _Even if we don't have it, neither will the bad guys_.

Of course, it was possible that it could be found elsewhere, but he had searched practically the entire building and had found no other references. He unplugged from the computer and went back into the main lab.

This one was different from the one he and Wally had been in, he was sure of it. He flicked on his batlight and went searching for his missing boot. It was just one more question out of the dozen that he had yet to get answers for.

Robin found the boot near where he had woken up on the floor. He would pull on his boot, find the light switch, and then search the lab for a possible prototype of the Red Sun Laser Rifle like the one in the diagram. As he sat down on the floor, he wondered at the quiet in his head. He was so used to working with Batman, he didn't even notice at first that he wasn't linked to the others. But then, he _had_ been unconscious . . .

He would need to find the others next. They wouldn't leave without him, but it seemed odd that someone hadn't come looking for him yet. And again – Where did Kid Flash go? Was he hurt and locked in another room? Worry crept in and Robin decided to put off looking for the laser rifle until he could locate his missing teammates.

A loud thump against the door startled Robin enough to make him drop his boot. The door knob rattled and another thump sounded.

"What the heck?" He stared, and scooted backwards. No sense in being the first thing whoever was trying to break in would see.

Suddenly a familiar figure appeared like magic through the door. Robin squinted. Was that the Flash? _What is he doing_? _Why is the League here_? _,_ he wondered.

What he was doing was turning around to unlock and open the door.

Robin grabbed up his boot and moved to shove his foot in when the lights came on.

"Robin?"

Robin's head jerked up. Batman was here, too?! What happened?

"Batman?"

* * *

The sound of Robin's voice brought Batman the kind of relief that threatened the stability of his knees.

 _Oh, thank God_! He hated to admit that he had begun to believe what he had been told; that Robin had been dead. He knew that the Boy Scout's Intel had been faulty. The panic that had coursed through his system made him wobbly and also sent him straight to the boy's side. He needed to see for himself that Dick was okay.

"Are you all right," he asked softly. That his voice was more Bruce than Batman could be forgiven.

Robin nodded. "I think so. I woke up in here, but I don't remember how I got here," he complained. "How's KF?"

"Worried about you," Batman murmured.

His fingers brushed at a few flecks of what appeared to be dried blood on Robin's cheek. He couldn't see where it had originated from, however. He frowned and began to examine him for possible injuries. He ran a hand over the boy's head and paused. There was something sticky back here. He thought the fluid was red and brought his fingers up to smell it. He sucked in his breath. Blood! Specifically, Robin's blood!

"You **_are_** hurt," he growled as he moved behind Robin to better assess his injury.

"My chest and neck hurt when I woke up, but the pain went away in minutes. I feel perfectly fine now," Robin admitted, as he allowed Batman to assuage his worry.

* * *

" _Rob_!" Kid Flash zipped over to kneel in front of him.

Robin blinked at Wally's red-rimmed eyes. Fear stabbed at him. "What happened, Wally? Who's hurt?"

Before the older boy could answer, the lab was crowded with people. His team ran over to him as Superman and Flash followed suit. Kaldur rushed over next. His silver-gray eyes were wide with shock and disbelief, but he wore the biggest smile Robin had ever seen on him.

"I cannot believe it," Kaldur gaped at him. "I _saw_ you . . . with my own eyes, I _saw_ you! How can this be?"

"What are you talking about," Robin asked, only to be distracted by Batman's hands moving over his body. "What are you doing back there," he asked Batman. "I told you that I felt fine."

"If you feel so fine then perhaps you would like to explain to me the puddle of blood I found back here," Batman told him. "And the blood in your hair."

Robin turned around. He couldn't know for sure, but it looked like the approximate area that he had been laying when he had woke up. And there it was . . . A shockingly large amount of blood on the floor.

His eyes widened. _Oh my gosh_! _Whoever lost that much blood wouldn't be walking out of here_!

"That's _your_ blood, Rob," Wally told him. "The laser blasted you right through the wall and into this room!" His voice broke. Wally paused to wipe a hand over his eyes. "Y-you . . . You were lying right there," he pointed to the blood. "You were bleeding from a head wound and blood was running out of your nose and mouth!"

Aqualad nodded. "You were _dead_ , Robin. Kid Flash checked you for a pulse and could not find it. When I came in, you were not breathing. There was a huge burn mark on your chest, and it was very apparent from the way you were holding your head that being thrown through the wall must have broken your neck."

Robin gaped at them. He looked down at his chest, but his uniform was perfect; not a mark or a singed thread on it. He looked over at the wall he had apparently burst through and saw a wall completely unmarred.

"You mean this uniform that I'm wearing right now," he asked, skeptically. "And that wall over there?"

Perhaps he could be forgiven for thinking this was all just an elaborate prank on him.

* * *

Batman was took a sample of the blood and put it in his pouch. He moved back around to Robin's side. He pulled a collapsing batarang from his belt and used the sharp edge to slice through Robin's tunic.

" _Hey_!"

"Quiet," Batman ordered. "Wait. Watch."

Robin shut his mouth and studied the spot that Batman sliced open. After almost a minute ticked by, Robin frowned.

"A-are you _seeing_ this?" He gasped.

No one answered immediately. They were staring, speechless, as the threads of Robin's tunic began to spontaneously weave itself back together. Within another minute, his uniform was completely repaired.

"I can't see anything that would prove that you just cut that fabric," Superman said, quietly. "It appears to be a perfect, undamaged weave."

Without a word, Batman ripped the tunic down the front and shoved it to one side. Robin had been wounded by a mugger's knife less than three weeks ago. Alfred had only just taken out the stitches last week and declared Dick fit for duty a few days ago. The scar earlier this evening had been still raised and pink. The marks from the stitches had still been present. Bruce had inspected it himself before allowing Dick to dress to come to the mountain.

He rubbed his thumb over smooth skin. The scar was gone. He pulled the tunic away from Robin's right side. The scar from Dick's surgery for his appendix was also gone. He couldn't strip the boy further without embarrassing him. As they all watched, the boy's tunic began mending itself again, but Batman had seen all he needed to see. There was only one way to test his theory, however.

He pulled Robin's glove off and picked up the batarang. He met the boy's eyes as much as their mutual lenses would allow.

"Are you okay with this," Batman asked him quietly. He wanted to know, but he wouldn't do this unless the boy agreed to it. "It's fine if you aren't."

Robin gulped and nodded. Everyone surrounded them as Batman carefully scraped a small cut across Robin's palm. The boy hissed, but didn't flinch. Blood welled up, but quickly dried. After a minute, Batman rubbed Robin's palm with his thumb. The dried blood flaked off and revealed that the skin under it had healed so perfectly that not even a mark remained.

"It's a miracle," Artemis whispered, awed by what they all witnessed.

The only way to tell there had ever been a cut on his hand had been the streak of blood that had been left behind. The wall, Robin's uniform, Robin himself, it would seem, could heal themselves almost instantaneously.

* * *

 **SURPRISE!**

 **Reactions? Comments? Opinions? C'mon, there are bound to be some . . . I had you going there, didn't I? So, do you like it so far?**

 **I'm not certain that one of my guest readers will see this or not, but I will answer her question here. I DID change my mind and made this the second story the tragic one, however, being the wimp I am, I'm not certain I can end this sadly . . . This is why I didn't post any warnings on my summary that this would have any major character death, because as of right now, I have no plans for that to happen.** ** _B_ _u_ t you can assume that, without any warnings from me, it is NOT. I will _always_ warn you first. Even if that means ruining the suspense. (Dang it!)**


	7. Pt 6 - Better Than Great

**Sorry for the delay . . . I had reached a place in another story that I had been planning for months, and was excited to get those chapters out. Sometimes that happens. I get excited and on a roll, and I will do nothing but write for that story for a while. But I'm back, and I will be writing for Renewable and Running Scared now.**

 **No Warnings . . .**

* * *

Wally stared at him like he was some kind of fascinating bug under a big microscope. Of course, he wasn't the only one. Everyone was looking at him. Robin's attention was torn between his audience and his tunic. He watched as the threads rewove themselves as if they were alive. It was kind of creepy. He suppressed a shiver.

"So, does this mean he's invulnerable then, like Superman?" Kid Flash asked.

That would be good to know. It had been one of his questions.

"We can't be certain at this stage. We aren't even certain of what his injuries were before he healed." Batman told them. "It would appear he can be hurt, but his body can now repair those hurts at a hugely accelerated rate. So, my guess is no; he's not invulnerable like Superman who doesn't generally get hurt in the first place."

Robin finished tugging on his boot, and stood up. "Well, on that promising note, I did manage to find what I believe is the information we were searching for when I first woke up in here," he said. "I downloaded a file from the computer that was written in Russian. It's our best bet."

He brought up the file on his holographic wrist computer. Batman bent over him and read over the information briefly. After a moment, he nodded, apparently satisfied.

"Good work, Robin. That was smart on their part to keep the file in Russian. There aren't that many people in this country that speak the language and have the ability to access their files," Batman told him. "This is just another security measure to prevent discovery.

Wally gaped. "Dude! You speak Russian?"

Robin shook his head. "I can only read a few words of Russian," he admitted. "Batman is fluent in Russian, though. Anyway, the word 'Red' was in the two-word name of the file, and the information inside contained the word for 'twenty-four hours', and we knew the laser's effects lasted that long. There was a diagram for a laser rifle as well that resembles what Batman thought the prototype might look like. I deduced it was a good probability of being the file that we wanted."

"And you are correct," Batman laid a hand on Robin's shoulder; a rare expression of pride on his part.

Robin couldn't help the grin. Compliments were few and far between with Batman. He had to work hard and not just achieve the goal but excel while doing it in order to receive one, but most especially those that were given in front of others.

"You can stand, then," the Dark Knight asked his protégé. The trace of concern in his voice was only discernable by the boy.

"Of course," he said, flipping up onto his feet in a show-off move.

In truth, he felt _great_! The best he had felt in a long time, in fact. He hadn't realized that he hadn't been completely pain-free before until now, when the minor aches and soreness that Robin had always assumed was his normal were gone. It was amazing what a person could get used to when they didn't know any better.

Robin ducked his head, blushing, as he glanced at his mentor. Batman disapproved of showing off without good reason, even amongst friends, but instead of a frown or a grimace, Robin received the slightest of smirks. For a normal person, it was the same as a huge grin and outright laugh!

Wow, he thought. Bruce must have really been afraid for him to allow him such leeway!

"I think this discovery must take precedence over even the Red Sun Laser," Batman announced. "Apologies, Superman, but I think that even you can see that the implications of a machine that can create armies capable of healing every hurt and repairing every damaged weapon instantaneously will prove to be the greater threat."

Wally scratched his head. "The laser that did this isn't even locked away," he told them. "It's just setting on a table in the other room."

"Meaning," Aqualad inserted here, "that the scientists may not even be aware of what they have."

"It is something that I want verified as soon as possible," Batman agreed.

"I wonder if the bad guys already have people that are . . . What would be the word to use here if not invulnerable," Flash commented. "Renewable?"

"I'm certain that if there are 'renewable' men out there," Superman said, "that we will be hearing about them soon enough. It isn't something that you can keep under wraps for long."

Artemis smirked and elbowed Robin teasingly. "Renewable, huh? This is going to be fun testing out."

Robin looked slightly alarmed. "Uh, hopefully not that much fun, huh, Artie?"

"Never more than you can handle, Boy Wonder," Artemis grinned.

"Kid Flash," Batman began walking toward the door. "Show me where this machine is located. We're not leaving here without it. And that also means, we need to locate any information on this new prototype as well. Get to work, people!"

M'gann watched as the League members followed Kid Flash out the door before turning back to the remainder of the Team.

"Is it permanent, do you think," she asked.

"If it is, it would make Robin our greatest asset," Kaldur said.

Robin looked startled. "After Superboy and Miss Martian, you mean."

"Even Superboy and Miss Martian have vulnerabilities, Robin. To be able to heal any hurt, even death, would make you unstoppable," the Atlantian explained.

"Yeah, you said that before," Robin grimaced. "Are you positive that I was actually . . ." It was hard to even say. ". . . Dead?"

Kaldur shrugged. "I know what I saw, and Wally, too, had also believed it to be so. It was . . . upsetting. I, for one, am considerably relieved that you are okay now." He tilted his head at the younger boy. "You are okay now, are you not?"

Robin smiled. "Better than okay," he admitted. "I didn't even realize that I had ever felt less than great until now when I'm feeling even better than great."

"Better than great?" Artemis wondered at his words. "Is that even possible?"

Robin laughed. "It is now!"

"So, you're definitely feeling the 'aster', then?" Artemis grinned.

"Artie, you have no idea!"

* * *

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	8. Pt 7 - Unauthorized Testing

"Hah! Missed! Is that the best you can do?"

Robin's reflexes were even better than before. He flipped and tucked and twisted out of the way. He didn't know if his . . . enhancement was responsible for making him quicker or if he could always move like this had he just felt this good all the time.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?"

All activity stopped. Robin landed in a crouch and winced at the anger evident in Batman's tone. He didn't often show anger . . . And then there was the curse! Crud! They were in trouble now.

Artemis lowered her bow and glanced guiltily at all of the arrows that stuck out at odd angles all over the gymnasium.

Kid Flash jumped to her defense despite his sudden pallor.

"W-we were j-just testing Rob's reflexes," Wally stammered.

Batman yanked out one of the arrows as he stormed over in their direction; his cape furled dramatically in his wake as if punctuating his temper with the sound of its heavy flutter.

"With pointed arrowheads?" He growled, and looked at Robin. "What were you _thinking_ to allow a teammate to shoot at you with lethal weapons?" He swung around to Artemis. "He's not _Superboy_! He is still vulnerable to injury and pain!"

"It's okay, Batman," Wally blurted. "She's only been able to hit him once, and he healed right up afterwards; no problem."

"And he's faster now, too," Artemis added hastily.

Batman's head swung around to pin Robin to the wall with the Batglare. "You were _hit_? Where?"

"I'm okay, Batman, really. It's like Kid Flash said, I healed up quickly." Robin explained.

"Answer my question," Batman barked.

Robin flinched and glanced at Artemis. His hand slid up and touched his left side, just beneath his ribs.

"Here," he told him meekly.

One could almost see Batman's eyes narrow beneath those disturbing white lenses.

Artemis bit her lip, and stepped out; walking over to Robin's side. "That's not exactly accurate," she told him; her expression guilty. "I actually hit him here."

She pointed to a spot up from Robin's hand by six inches and inward toward the center of his body by three inches. Her finger landed squarely over his heart. She nodded to the side and Batman followed her direction to find a spot still streaked with blood . . . A _**lot**_ of blood! It looked like someone attempted to clean it up somewhat which meant that there had been even more blood to begin with.

Batman glared. "That is a lethal shot, Artemis! If Robin wouldn't have gained the healing factor yesterday, you would have _killed_ him!"

"If Robin hadn't gained the healing factor, I wouldn't have _shot_ at him at all," Artemis cried. "We tried the non-lethal arrows, but they didn't even slow him down."

"And how did you know that the effects of the machine hadn't worn off over the past twenty-four hours?" Batman snarled.

Artemis opened her mouth to defend herself, but stopped. She paled as she considered what Batman had said. She glanced at Wally and then Robin, but from their expressions, neither of them had considered that possibility either.

"The other arrows didn't seem to hurt him at all, so we thought that he would be able to heal these a well." Artemis finally said.

"Y-you think it's going to wear off?" Wally swallowed hard.

"That is the point I am trying to make, Wallace," Batman said from behind clenched teeth. "We don't _know_!"

"What did all those tests tell you?" Robin asked.

He had spent all morning being examined, X-rayed, poked and prodded. Leslie had been chattering excitedly when he finally had been excused. He probably should have stayed to listen, but honestly, he had been bored to tears and bursting with energy. So, when KF had suggested they test his abilities, he had jumped at the opportunity.

Batman seemed to calm at this question. "As far as Leslie can tell, all of your past injuries and scars have healed to the point that they are no longer detectable. According to the X-rays, you have never broken a bone which we both know is a falsehood. Perhaps what is more interesting is that it appears that your appendix is back and looks to be in perfect condition."

Robin blinked at that. _Whoa_ . . .

"You grew back your _appendix_? Dude, that is all kinds of awesome!" Wally held up his hand for a high five. Robin obliged with a sense of wonder.

Batman took a deep breath and seemed to come to a decision.

"So, what have you learned from your _'test'_ ," he asked.

The three youths perked up at that.

"That he wouldn't heal until the arrow was removed," Artemis volunteered.

"Which is why there was so much blood," Wally added. "He bled like a sieve for a minute or two after we pulled the arrow out." The speedster shuddered at the memory.

"It hurt," Robin admitted. "A lot at first. But after the arrow was removed, the pain began to ease almost immediately. It was kind of scary in the beginning. My heart fluttered and felt like it couldn't actually beat right. I felt light-headed, and when that faded, my heart started beating normally again. I felt fine in just a few minutes."

Batman studied him for a moment, and then stepped forward to lift Robin's arm up. His skin had flecks of dried blood on it, but his uniform was clean and undamaged, as if Robin had just put it on.

"You healed from a fatal wound in a few minutes?" Batman repeated to be sure he had this straight.

Robin bit his lip and nodded; waiting for the sword to drop. Batman had been furious when he had come in moments ago. He couldn't imagine nothing coming of that.

"Let me see," he instructed.

A blush crept up his cheeks as Robin turned away from Artemis to face his mentor. He was unsure how much of his father was in there at the moment. Bruce was far more soft-spoken and compassionate than his alter-ego, but when wearing the cowl, those qualities were suppressed to make way for cold logic and efficiency. They didn't disappear altogether, and sometimes they leaked out despite his best attempts to contain them, but the Bat didn't often inspire the warm fuzzies in others.

He opened his tunic and pulled it aside. He looked down to observe a small pink pucker remained directly over his heart. Batman pulled off his glove and ran a finger gently over what was left of the wound. If Robin felt the slight trembling in the digit, he knew better than to acknowledge it. As the two watched, the skin completely smoothed and the pink faded to his normal lightly-tanned coloring.

"How long ago did this happen," Batman asked.

Robin frowned and glanced back at his teammates. He thought he had lost consciousness at some point, however briefly, so he couldn't be accurate if he were missing time.

Artemis glanced at Wally, and then back at the Duo. "Fifteen minutes ago; give or take," she said.

Wally nodded his agreement. "But he was back up and running drills in about five."

Batman pursed his lips as he pulled his glove back on. "You took longer last night to recover, I think."

"His injuries were more severe last night," Wally said.

"Both were supposedly fatal," Batman pointed out. "Either might have killed him."

"But Robin's heart didn't stop beating completely and he never stopped breathing this time. He healed before he could . . . You know, before he could actually d-die." Wally licked his lips. He looked away; his face pale. He didn't like thinking about last night. "Last night, he was dead. You look at me like you don't believe me, Batman, but I was there. I couldn't find a pulse. He had stopped breathing. His neck was broken and the back of his head had a depressed skull fracture."

Robin thought Batman looked a little pale from Wally's description, although it was hard to tell from the little bit of skin that was exposed.

"So, the more traumatic the injury, the longer it takes to heal," Batman surmised. "That makes sense. Coming back from the dead seems a little hard to believe, however. Perhaps his pulse had been too weak to detect?"

Wally frowned. "Why won't you believe me?"

Batman lips flattened, but he didn't reply. Instead he swung around and stalked out of the gym. He turned around before exiting, however.

"No more tests unless a League member is present," he commanded. "Is that clear?"

"Perfectly," Artemis answered.

Wally huffed once they were alone. "Why won't he believe me when I tell him that you were dead? I sat with you for nearly ten minutes before Aqualad even called the League!"

Robin knew the answer to that, but he kept it to himself. He knew the idea of losing someone else he cared about was completely overwhelming to Bruce. So much so, that it threatened the composure of even the Batman. He would rather deny that Robin came so close to ultimate death than accept that his son had died and had been resurrected.

"Come on," Robin said, eager to change the uncomfortable subject. He moved toward the janitor's closet. "We'd better get that blood cleaned up before it dries."

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **We learn a little bit more about what Robin can do, and that Batman isn't embracing Robin's new healing abilities with the same amount of enthusiasm as the boy's teammates.**


	9. Pt 8 - The Accident

**Warning: A Little Language; Some Graphic Images . . .**

* * *

Training that next day included Superman who dropped by to observe, and Batman who stuck around for similar reasons. Batman didn't completely trust that the Team wouldn't include more unauthorized testing in their sparring exercise.

So far, Robin had been able to heal past and present wounds, but the laser that they had confiscated from the lab wasn't revealing its secrets yet, and they had yet to find any information concerning it. Miss Martian had sworn that none of the lab techs or security present knew anything about a machine that granted the healing factor. Until he discovered all there was to know about this laser and its research, Batman wouldn't feel comfortable allowing Robin to increase the level of his training to include the kind of damage that Superboy could withstand.

"Robin and Aqualad," Black Canary called out. "Superboy and Kid Flash."

The two sets squared off with their opponents and in moments were engaged in battle. Robin laughed as he flipped around the young Atlantian; Aqualad's frustration grew when his attempts to engage the boy were thwarted time and again.

Batman pursed his lips in thought.

"Has he gotten faster?" Clark murmured.

Batman nodded. "They said that his reflexes had improved. It would appear that observation was accurate."

"So the laser improved his reflexes along with his capacity to heal?"

"Robin doesn't believe that is so," he told the Kryptonian. "He said he believed he was always capable of being this quick, if he had only felt this good before."

"Felt this good? What exactly does that mean?" Clark glanced at his friend.

"Muscles aches, joint pain, the usual soreness that comes after a battle or rigorous training disallowed Robin to fully utilize his potential," Batman offered as way of explanation.

Superman blinked. "You sounded just like a computer right then, Bruce."

"No names," Batman glared at him.

Sighing, Superman crossed his arms. "So, Robin has been working himself too hard?"

"He said he hadn't realized he wasn't feeling the aster until now. This super-healing factor has revealed to him that what he believed was his norm was just another level of his body healing slowly."

Superman smirked at the term 'aster'. The boy had been driving everyone up the wall lately with his decimation of the English language. The journalist in him still cringed, however.

Clark glanced at the Bat beside him. "You aren't taking this so well," he observed. "One would think that you would worry about the boy _less_ rather than more since he is now able to heal any hurt."

"We don't know if the effects are permanent or not, Clark," he admitted. "I cannot help but worry that one day he will blithely expose himself needlessly to danger, take a lethal hit, and the ability will have deserted him. We don't even know the extent of his healing ability. I don't want Robin to take this healing factor for granted."

"I thought Kid Flash and Aqualad said he pulled a Lazarus the other night?"

Batman grimaced. "I have my doubts about that. It was more likely that what they assumed was death was just a form of deep coma brought on by his head injury; mimicking death."

"Either way," Superman shrugged. "What they described was still impressive."

Batman grunted. He couldn't bring himself take Robin's injuries so lightly. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Kid Flash was zipping around Superboy, laughing. The young clone was getting angrier by the moment. Superman's presence was ramping the boy's emotions up. It was obvious that Conner wanted his mentor's approval, and Kid Flash's antics were making him look bad at the worst time. Clark needed to take the boy in hand. This occasional dropping by just to ignore the teen was doing more harm than good.

Suddenly Superboy's arm shot out at just the right moment and Kid Flash ran into it at super speed; the clone's limb clotheslining the smaller teen across the chest. The sound of unforgiving steel meeting the give of flesh was loud inside the cave. The corresponding crack indicated multiple breaks along Kid Flash's ribs and sternum, and was followed up with another resounding crack as he slammed into the floor.

Even with the speedster's accelerated metabolism, this was a devastating injury.

Everything stopped as heads swung around in shock. Conner eyes were huge as he gaped down at Wally's supine figure. The younger teen wasn't moving; wasn't even groaning. The pause had only been for a few seconds before reactions abounded. Conner fell to his knees beside his fallen teammate; his expression one of horror. Artemis and M'gann screamed and ran from the sidelines. Robin and Kaldur stumbled over from where they had been sparring.

Black Canary and Superman shoved through the surrounding teens in order to get at the injured boy. Superman stood over him frozen for a moment as he scanned the boy for breaks and internal injuries, but it was obvious for anyone to see by the indention in the boy's chest that he was in _serious_ trouble.

He frowned. "His chest is completely crushed," he whispered. "I'm seeing massive internal bleeding from bone fragments embedded in his heart and lungs. My God," The Kryptonian slowly lowered himself beside Wally. "He's dying!"

"Someone contact the League," Canary ordered. "Tell them Flash was needed here ten minutes ago!"

Batman laid a hand on Clark's shoulder. "We should move him to the medical bay," he murmured. "Are you _sure_ there isn't anything we can do? Emergency surgery . . . Something?"

"He'd never make it that far," Superman said simply.

"I-I didn't mean it!" Conner cried out. "I didn't _mean_ it! I wasn't trying to hit him! I didn't mean for this to happen . . . I was only trying to catch him," he said; his voice fading to a whisper.

Batman swung his gaze from one traumatized boy to another. Wally was Robin's best friend. This wasn't even battle! He was going to lose his friend to naught but a mistake; a tragic accident that happened right here in the relative safety of the mountain. As he watched, one tear and then another seeped out from beneath his son's mask to escape and roll down the boy's face.

"Is there _nothing_ we can do?" Artemis yelled at them. "We can't just _sit_ here and watch him _die_!"

Considering the amount of antagonism that went on between the archer and the speedster, the depth of her upset might have been surprising, but it appeared that the snide remarks and jokes at the other's expense were merely masking the couple's growing affections. The young blonde turned suddenly into the arms of M'gann, as she collapsed in an emotional breakdown.

"I yelled at him," Artemis said, weeping. "The last thing I did was yell at him . . ."

"Flash. 04"

"What's going on," Flash asked as he zipped over to the huddled group. "Why was I . . . Oh . . . No." He skidded to a halt.

Black Canary stepped out of his way. She put her hand on Conner's shoulder, but the clone shrugged her off. Superman stepped back and allowed Flash to take his spot beside the fallen teen.

"Kid?" Barry's voice cracked as he finally got more than a glimpse of his nephew. "Oh, no! Come on, Wally," he begged. "Don't do this! What happened? Why isn't anyone helping him?"

"I'm sorry, Flash. I'm so sorry. There's nothing we can do," Superman told him. "His injuries are too severe."

"All he needs is a chance to heal . . . He can do this if he's given half a chance!" Flash bowed his head. "What am I going to tell Iris? What am I going to tell his parents?"

"The bones in his chest are crushed, Barry," Superman explained softly. "They're preventing him from being able to heal. He's bleeding out too quickly, even with his metabolism, for him to recover. I'm sorry."

Robin's hand snaked out to take Wally's hand in his. Since standing here Batman had yet to see Wally take a breath. Blood began seeping from the boy's mouth as they watched; the red color contrasting greatly with the blue of his lips.

"No," Robin finally spoke, but it was the whine of a child who had already lost too much too often. "No. Wally, don't go! _Please_ , don't go!"

After a second, Robin gasped; his free hand coming up to clutch at his chest. He coughed, and blood sprayed from his mouth.

"Robin?" Batman was around the group and at his son's side in seconds. He dropped to his knees. "What's happening? Talk to me."

Robin shook his head, unable to speak. He suddenly bent over double; a shaking moan finally escaping his lips.

"What the hell? Kid?" Flash's gasp, drew Batman's head around.

As they watched, the depression in Wally's chest plumped up as the air was filled with crackling sounds. Wally's body abruptly twisted and he gasped for air. He arched his back and turned his head, obviously in pain.

"My God," Superman gasped next. "He's healing! Did he get hit by that laser also?"

"No. No, he didn't," Batman said, swinging back around to his son. "Robin, stop!" Batman ordered. "Robin, he's going to make it! Stop whatever you're doing!"

Everyone's eyes swiveled to where Robin had collapsed into Batman's arms. As he was lowered onto the floor, mouths dropped open as the boy's chest was revealed, as dented as Wally's had just been.

"Kid Flash's injuries! Those are Kid Flash's injuries!" Superman exclaimed. "How is he _doing_ this?"

"Robin, you have to ** _S _top_. Right. Now_!** " Batman commanded.

"Wally?" Flash yelled as he leaned over his nephew. "Wally, can you hear me?"

Robin's hand continued to grip that of his friend's as he writhed on the floor in agony. Batman physically pulled his son's hand from Wally's, but even as the older teen's eyes fluttered open, Robin's fluttered closed; a single, pained sigh easing from blue-tinged lips.

"Robin? _Robin_?" Batman called him, but the boy didn't answer. Blood began to seep from his mouth. "No."

"Ugh! What happened?" Kid Flash sat up. His eyes widened as he looked at his side to see his best friend breathe his last breath.

"Rob?"

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **Honestly, I'm really kind of surprised that accidents like this hadn't happened before, what with Superboy's strength and anger management issues . . .**


	10. Pt 9 - Pros and Cons

**Sorry this took a day longer than I had expected. Believe it or not, the trouble came from trying to decide whose POV to take. I wrote two versions, but this one won . . . I think you'll be able to see why when you read it.**

 **No Warnings!**

* * *

" _No!_ "

The word followed Robin into the darkness. The sounds of weeping drew him out. When he opened his eyes to the dark, for just a second he thought that someone had covered him with a blanket. His first breath was shallow and pain-filled. His second one was better but still shallow. He couldn't seemed to breathe deeply enough, as if something was confining him.

As more of his senses came back on line, he realized someone was holding him. That the darkness over his eyes wasn't a blanket but a cape. That the weeping wasn't just one person, but several. That the person holding him, while weeping also, the desperate tears that were dampening his tunic were silent. The familiar broad shoulders shook, but the strong arms that held him were gentle; oh, so gentle.

Robin lifted his hands and pushed weakly at the chest he was cradled against. This was just too depressing.

"Ow, ugh! So, who died?" he rasped as light-heartedly as he could manage.

There was a gasp, and the arms relaxed their hold. Robin understood that Batman thought he died and that he had been grieving, but he was still startled at the sight of his adopted father.

The lenses were up! Batman never put his lenses up in public! Seeing the stark emotion reflected in Bruce's eyes, Robin felt a little ashamed of his flippant comment. He raised a hand to wipe at the tears that were still streaming down Batman's face and discovered his glove had been removed at some point.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to scare you like that, but Wally was dying, Bruce! I had to try." Robin tried to sit up and look, but Batman's arms tightened around him. "Did it work? Is he okay?"

"How?" Bruce's choked voice asked him softly. "How did you know to do that?"

"I didn't know exactly, but when I took his hand, I could feel his pain," Robin admitted. "And I discovered I could draw it off; take it away. That was all I really meant to do, until I felt the first rib break and I felt his mend. I knew then that I had to try."

"How did you know that taking on his injuries wouldn't kill you?" Bruce's voice dropped in tone at the first edge of anger slid out.

"I . . . Uh," Robin lowered his eyes. "I-I didn't. I couldn't let him _die_ , Bru-Br . . . Uh, Batman!"

He seemed to realize that people suddenly noticed something was happening. He pushed again at Batman's chest, harder this time as his strength began to return to him in a rush.

"Robin?" Wally gasped. "I _knew_ it! Or, at least, I had hoped you could heal this!"

"What? Robin?" Artemis turned to look as Batman finally allowed his son to leave his arms.

Robin sat up on his own slowly. Not because he was weak, but because Batman set his hand on his shoulder to prevent him from doing too much too soon. But that was only because he didn't understand that Robin was fine; more than fine. With each passing breath, he felt better. The pain he had felt upon first awakening had gone away as if it never was.

Startled cries resounded around the cave as everyone became aware that no one was dead; no one was even hurt. He was surrounded in seconds.

"My God! I had no idea you were capable of healing others as well as yourself," Flash gasped.

"That is some new ability you have there," Superman remarked, smiling. "I have to admit, I'm a little jealous."

"That is simply amazing!" M'gann cried happily.

Robin looked through the crowd and spotted Superboy easing away from everyone. His face was a combination of relief and a lot of self-recrimination. Robin shrugged off Batman hand and bounded to his feet. He ran after the older boy before he could leave the chamber.

"Conner, wait," he yelled. "Conner, it's okay. Everyone is fine. No one is hurt! Don't go."

Conner turned part the way around, and looked at Robin from the corner of his eye, but refused to meet the younger boy's gaze.

"No, it is not . . . _fine_ ," he growled. "That you saved Wally and then yourself is great, but it still doesn't change what I did!"

"It was an accident, Conner. We all know that," Robin insisted. "No one blames you for this."

"Yeah, well, maybe they should," he yelled, and then seemed to shrink in on himself. "I know I do," he added in a small voice.

"Well, you're just going to have to get over yourself," Robin told him, angrily. "Everyone makes mistakes! No one is perfect! This only means you need to train more so that you can control your moves a little better is all. You don't hide from it," he said. "You _fix_ it so that isn't a problem anymore!"

"Easy for you to say," Conner remarked, unwilling to forgive himself. "Your mistakes don't _kill_ people!" He moved to walk away.

"Yes, they do," Robin said softly. Superman might be able to hear his words if he were listening, but nobody else.

"One of my mistakes cost a good man his life . . . And very nearly my own, too. If Batman hadn't gotten free in time," Robin sighed, his gaze dropping to his boots, " _nobody_ would have walked away. Nobody would have been happy . . . Except for maybe Two-Face. Yeah, I'm pretty sure Two-face would have been ecstatic."

Superboy stood there with his shoulders hunched for a long time. Then he took a breath and stood up straight; his shoulders moving back. When he turned around, his eyes looked brighter if still haunted, but there was a small smile on his face.

"So, how'd you learn to get past it?"

"It wasn't easy," Robin smiled. "I didn't heal nearly as quickly then as I do now, so I had a long time to come to grips with it. Batman forgave me. That helped more than anything else, and it allowed me to do the same, too, after a while."

Conner's eyes moved to find Wally over Robin's shoulder. The speedster was standing up grinning at everyone; one arm still hooked around Artemis. As if he felt Conner's gaze on him, he looked over and gave him a smile and a thumb's up. It was all the clone needed apparently, and much of the sadness that still clung to him seemed to evaporate.

Robin slapped him on the back as they made their way back to the others.

"You know," he said. "I think I could take you now without much trouble."

Conner looked down at the younger boy walking beside him; one eyebrow raised. The boy gazed up at him, grinning in challenge.

"Is that so?" Robin still looked like a skinny, little kid that could be blown over with a stiff wind. "Hm, maybe you could," Conner admitted. "Maybe you could."

"We'd have to time it so Batman isn't around," Robin said thoughtfully, already planning ahead.

That might take a while after this last scare. The Bats' lenses were down now, but that wasn't enough to prevent Robin from reading his body language. The big guy was still upset. And Robin knew that they would be having another 'talk' about the pros and cons of taking risks to get through first.

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **Robin just has to 'heal' everyone . . . Gotta love him! And Robin's 'mistake' that he refers to here is from "Robin: Year One".**

 **As usual, I own nothing.**


	11. Pt 10 - A Walk in the Park

**Maybe one little bitty word or so . . .**

* * *

"So, do you think we'll get another mission soon?" Wally walked next to Robin into Happy Harbor.

"You know it," Robin told him. "We still need to find and retrieve the Red Sun Laser."

"I thought Batman said it was taking a back seat to the MoD?"

Robin looked at his friend curiously. "MoD?"

"Machine O'Doom," Wally announced.

Robin laughed. "But it's not a machine of doom if it has given me the ability to heal practically everything."

They cut through the park that lay in the center of town. The hospital lay on one side of it; two sides were lined with shops and restaurants; and one side bordered a quiet neighborhood and an elementary school.

"The Machine of I Can Heal Practically Everything doesn't flow off the tongue as easily," Wally explained. "And we found it in the lab of some evil scientists, so then there must be some aspect of it that is bad news. Thus we have a Machine O'Doom."

Robin turned his face away. He didn't want Wally to see that his prediction troubled him. "Then you think something bad can still come of it?"

Wally looked at Robin and realized his mistake. "Oh! Uh . . . No, no, not really. I mean, if it were going to be evil, we'd have seen evidence of it by now, right?"

"Yeah, sure," Robin sighed. Then he put on a smile and turned back to Wally. "Nothing bad has happened yet, after all."

They were walking toward a mother carrying a little girl of five in the direction of the hospital. The child sneezed in between coughs. "But I don't want to see the doctor, Mommy! He'll give me a shot!"

"We don't know that he'll have to give you a shot, Mandy. Maybe he'll just look in your throat and ears and prescribe a cough medicine," the mother said in an attempt to ease her daughter's worry.

Mandy's face was flushed with fever, and she laid her head on her mother's shoulder, too weak to hold it up anymore. The mother's face was worried as she comforted the young girl by rubbing circles on her back.

"I don't feel good," the child whined again and then coughed hard.

As the boys stepped to the side to give the mother and daughter room to pass on the sidewalk, Robin reached out and rubbed his hand on the young girl's back below that of the mother's.

They hadn't taken but a few steps when they heard the child chirp. "I don't feel bad anymore, Mommy!"

"What?" The mother stopped and looked at her daughter in shock and awe.

The girl's coloring was glowing and her eyes sparkled vibrantly with good health. Even her hair, which had been lank and dull, look lustrous and shiny suddenly. The child giggled and squirmed to get down. As her little feet touched the ground, Mandy twirled and danced around her mother with energy to spare.

Wally spun around to watch the happy child and awestruck mother. "You didn't have anything to do with that, did you, Rob," he asked suspiciously.

"Of course not," Robin sneezed. "What gave you that idea," he gasped before falling into a paroxysm of coughs.

Wally's eyes widened at the fever-flushed face of his best friend.

"You did," he accused and set a supporting hand under Robin's elbow. The younger boy looked as if he were going to collapse any minute.

But before he could lead Robin over to a nearby park bench, the reddened cheeks cleared and Robin pulled away from Wally's helpful arm. He smiled.

"I'm fine," he assured the speedster. "Are you up for a pizza? I'm starved," he said.

"Like you had to ask," Wally grinned. He looked back over at the now-ecstatic mother and her healthy, little girl. "That was really nice of you, you know?"

Robin shrugged. "I don't like shots either," he quipped.

"You recover faster now, I think," Wally mused.

"I doubt it takes as long to heal the flu as it does having one's entire chest wall caved in," Robin smirked.

"Still, it makes you wonder about your limitations, doesn't it?"

Robin frowned. "You know, I haven't really thought about possible limitations yet."

Wally stopped to gape at him. "Are you kidding me? Didn't you know if you could heal yourself from my injuries before you did it?"

Robin hesitated. Admitting he didn't think about the ramifications of taking on Wally's injuries would likely made his friend mad. It was like he told Batman; the moment he realized he could save his friend, he knew he had to try. He didn't even stop to consider that he might not be able to heal himself. In fact, healing himself hadn't even cross his mind at the time.

"You didn't? What the hell, Rob?" Wally yelped.

"I didn't say that," he hedged.

"You didn't have to," the older boy snapped. "Your hesitation said it all for you."

"Why are you mad all of a sudden? Everything came out all right, didn't it?"

"I appreciate what you did for me. Really, I do! But how do you think I would feel to be healed only to have my best friend die in my place?" Wally threw up his hands.

"Probably the same way I'd feel like having to watch my best friend die when I knew I could do something to stop it," Robin retorted.

"I can't believe we are even arguing about this," Wally sighed.

Robin rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "Yeah, it seems kind of ridiculous."

Wally shot him a look. "No, it isn't ridiculous at all. But it serves no purpose now; after the fact. But you need to have a care with your own life, Rob."

"Batman's already given me that talk, thanks. I got the message."

The two of them had arrived at The Pizza Station. They entered and made their way to an empty booth. As they passed a bus boy with a loading bin of dirty dishes, Robin brushed his hand lightly along his arm. The young man gasped and straightened. He smiled and picked up his load easily; carting it off to the kitchen with new energy.

Robin winced and rubbed a hand along his lower back. The pain eased almost immediately, however, and by the time Wally had turned around to face him, Robin was grinning again. He slid into the seat and grabbed a menu. Healing gave him an appetite.

* * *

An hour later, the two of them left the restaurant, their waitress grinning hugely at them. She had been exhausted just an hour ago, but now she seemed to have caught her second wind. she thought she might even be willing to pick up that second shift her boss had been begging her for.

"Ready to head back to the mountain," Wally asked.

"Actually, if you don't mind going on without me, I kind of want to run a few errands first," Robin shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. Fall weather was turning the leaves red and gold and the air was beginning to get a bit nippy even in mid-afternoon.

"You want some company? I don't mind staying with you," Wally offered.

"No, that's okay," Robin waved as he turned to go in the opposite direction. "I won't be long. You should go find Artemis and talk to her," he said, knowing it would embarrass his friend just enough to get him to leave. Robin didn't want to hurt his feelings, but he had something he wanted to try, and he wasn't sure that Wally wouldn't accidentally rat him out. Artemis didn't call him Kid Mouth for nothing.

As predicted, Wally's face turned as red as his hair. "Whatever, dude. See you in a bit."

"Later," Robin said, walking away before his friend changed his mind and decided to join him after all. The next time Robin looked over his shoulder, Wally wasn't anywhere to be found. He smiled and crossed the street; heading back to the park and onto the path that led to the hospital.

He had his own brand of testing he wanted to do.

* * *

 **REACTIONS? Let's hear them . . .**

 **I have to admit, I always kind of wanted to do something like this.**


	12. Pt 11 - Errands

**Eventually I would give in to a longer chapter. I started to break this up, but I like how it all flowed together.**

 **No Warnings . . .**

* * *

Dick reentered the park. He turned back onto the path that led deeper into the public garden. He was pretty sure that Batman would have his head for something like this, but it is easier to ask forgiveness than permission. He promised himself that he wouldn't take chances; that he would minimize the risks.

What Wally had said about the MoD being created for some darker purpose had bothered Dick more than he was willing to admit. The need to prove that the laser hadn't changed him at his core consumed him. He was still a good person, and this would confirm it.

His eyes searched out opportunities as he went.

He healed a bird's broken wing, and a dog's torn ear. He healed a small boy's skinned knees and an elder lady's arthritis all without anyone being the wiser, and Dick learned compassion for the latter's affliction as he attempted to walk away with bent fingers and painful, throbbing joints.

He healed an older boy's broken finger that he received from playing baseball simply by kneeling beside him and touching his ankle. The boy was surrounded by the coach and several of his friends, so Dick's touch went unnoticed. The hardest part was keeping silent during the pain of absorbing the injury or disease and then the early stage of his own healing. He noticed that it took a little longer to mend after the much more difficult healing of the woman's arthritis. But then, after a little while, the pain went away much like water being poured out of a glass; a few minutes later he felt better than ever, both physically _and_ emotionally.

He touched a man smoking a cigarette, and healed the beginning stage of emphysema and a precancerous tumor in his right lung. The man coughed violently after taking another drag from the cigarette, and threw the offending object to the ground; crushing it under his heel. He pulled his pack from his shirt pocket and stared at it for a long moment before tossing it into the trash bin next to him.

Despite his hacking cough, Dick was pleased that he not only healed the man of his illnesses, but apparently of his addiction as well. He stumbled away, barely able to catch his breath. He wondered why anyone would ever want to start such a habit. It took a little bit longer than the broken finger, but slowly he was able to draw in a deep breath once more. The ache in his chest and throat eased until eventually it was no more.

He stopped by a little girl holding a broken and dying rose. She was looking up at her father and complaining pitifully.

"It's broken, Daddy," she cried. "Do you think Mommy will still like it?"

The father bent his knee and reassured her. "If it comes from you, Mommy will love it."

She sniffled and nodded, but looked sadly at the damaged rose.

When her father turned away to make a phone call, Dick knelt beside her.

"I think it is a beautiful rose. It just needs to be straightened up, I think," he told her.

Dick straightened the rose on its broken stem and held it for a moment. A sharp pain stabbed him in the side, and then, ever-so-slowly, it slid away. When he opened his eyes, the rose stem was whole again and the petals were bright and dewy and lovely to behold.

"There," he whispered to her. "I think your mommy will love it almost as much as she loves you."

"How did you do that," she whispered back.

Dick smiled and shrugged. "It just needed a helping hand, that's all. I didn't do much of anything." He stood up and walked away as the little girl began tugging her father's jacket to show him her newly-healed rose.

When the father turned around, he saw the perfect rose in his daughter's hand. He looked around to thank the person who gave it to her, but no one else was on the path. He took her hand and they turned to go home.

It was addictive . . . The joy he got taking people's pain away. If only he had this ability when his parents fell. It would have been worth every broken bone, the debilitating pain of internal injuries, the explosive pain of healing a crushed skull to have them back with him.

* * *

Dick approached a park bench on which a man in sunglasses was feeding the birds. Dick noted the tell-tale white cane with the red end that many of the blind use. He wondered if the man had been born blind or if he had lost his sight due to disease or accident.

"May I join you," Dick asked politely.

The man scooted over a bit. "It's a free country."

"Thanks," Dick sat down next to the guy and watched him continue to feed the pigeons. He liked the irony that a "bird" would be giving back to him for a change.

"I . . . Uh, I couldn't help but notice your cane," Dick said as an opening for conversation. He hoped the guy wasn't overly sensitive about his condition.

"Really," the man smiled. "I suppose it is a dead giveaway."

"Sort of," Dick pushed up his own sunglasses and thought if anyone looked in their direction, he wouldn't be able to tell at a glance which one of them was blind.

"Well, go on, then," the man encouraged. "Ask your question."

"I'm sorry. I was curious how you became blind. Were you born that way or did something happen?"

"I was born this way," the man told him easily.

Dick wondered if his new-found power would work on something a person was born with. He wasn't correcting an injury after all.

"I don't want to appear rude, but if you could see suddenly, what would you do first?"

The man was quiet a long minute. Long enough that Dick wondered if he would answer him. Finally, the man sat his bag of birdseed on the bench between them.

"I think I would probably sit here on this bench for a while and just see."

Dick blinked. "Just see?"

"I would look around," he said. "At everything and everyone. I would enjoy watching the birds that I come here every day to feed. They wake me every morning with their songs, you know. So full of joy and hope at what the day will bring them. They've always helped me have a positive attitude about life. Then, I would make my way home. I would look at the house I live in and then go inside and see my wife and child for the first time." His voice lowered. "I bet they are as beautiful to see as they sound to me."

He shrugged. "It's a nice dream."

"Maybe not," Dick said, and laid his hand over top of the man's.

The two gasped simultaneously. The man with shock and Dick with a dull ache that began in the back of his head and shot through like a bullet along his optical nerve to his eyes. Almost immediately his vision began to tunnel and large black spots began appearing, blotting out the birds, the park, the sky until Dick was immersed in the darkest night of his life. But there were no stars to comfort him this time.

"Oh," the man breathed in reverent awe beside him. "My God!"

He was silent, but Dick sensed his stillness. He hadn't left.

"This is . . . Th-this is a miracle!" the man's voice sounded strained as if he were fighting tears. "The birds! Look at the birds!" He began laughing through his sobs. "That's the sky? Oh my God, look at the tree! Is this color? It's amazing!"

Dick sat quietly, listening to the man rambling on about his first experience seeing the world around him. It was beautiful . . . Particularly when experiencing what the blind man had lived with for the first thirty plus years of his life. It was so complete, the darkness. Almost suffocating in its entirety.

Dick tried to wait patiently for his own eyesight to be restored. It was taking longer than he had expected it to. He wondered if it was because the person he had chosen to heal had been born with the disability rather than having blindness thrust upon him. Maybe he had rushed into this without thinking the consequences through.

"I've got to tell my wife. To be able to see her and my daughter for the first time . . ." The man gasped with joy. "It was so far out of the realm of possibility that I hadn't even dared to dream of it. Thank you," he said, grabbing Dick's hand. "What is your name?"

"You can call me Richard," Dick replied.

"My name is Nathan. How can I ever thank you, Richard," Nathan cried.

Dick turned his head toward the voice. "Thank _me_? I didn't do anything? Just sat down here and asked a simple question. Are you saying that you were blind and now you can see?"

"It's a miracle!" Nathan exclaimed. "But wait! Don't tell me that you are blind as well? I-I thought . . . Why was I healed and your affliction remains?"

Dick shrugged, becoming uncomfortably aware that he had been sitting here for several long minutes without a flickering of light or any indication that his body was healing itself.

"Just lucky, I guess," he answered blithely.

"Um . . . Are you here all by yourself?"

"Someone will be coming to pick me up soon," Dick assured him. Although if he were forced to call someone to pick him up, he was dreading the scene he would endure with Bruce. In the meantime, he would pray for his healing ability to not desert him yet.

Something was pressed into his hand. It took Dick a couple of seconds to identify the blind man's walking cane.

"I couldn't help but notice you have neither a cane nor a service animal. Did your guide set you here for a reason? I don't see anyone nearby. Richard, are you sure you'll be okay here by yourself?" Nathan patted his shoulder. "I'm leaving you my cane. It's a little too long for you, but not terribly so."

For some reason, that kind of choked him up. "Th-thank you," Dick said sincerely.

"Hey! Do you want me to wait here with you?"

"No! No," Dick told the man. "You should go home to your family! Go home and be happy! Remember what was done for you and maybe try to return it in some small measure to someone else."

"And that would make _you_ happy," Nathan asked him.

"I had nothing to do with your miracle," Dick reminded him. "But yes, that would make me very happy."

"I hate leaving you alone," he still sounded hesitant.

A faint tingling started in the back of his skull. It grew stronger by the minute until it felt like needles and then icepicks. Dick hissed and raised his hand to the back of his head.

"What's wrong? You're in pain," Nathan said, the concern was evident in his voice.

"It's nothing," Dick swallowed his groan. He dropped his hand even though he was ready to bend over double with both hands clutching his head. "A little headache. I get them occasionally."

"Do you have someone I can call for you?"

Dick smiled despite the growing agony. He had picked well . . . Healing this man had been worth the risk, he thought as that all-consuming darkness overwhelmed even his consciousness.

* * *

Batman bent over the diagnostics they had run on the laser that had given Robin the ability to heal with Flash and Martian Manhunter. He was waiting for Victor Stone to show up. He had been busy at Star Labs over the past two days, but was now on his way to the Watchtower at Batman's insistence.

Cyborg's unique ability to communicate with computers and complex machinery would hopefully allow them to determine all the ramifications that the laser represented. The dangers along with the obvious benefits. Perhaps then they could decide if Robin would need to be rescued from this ability or should be allowed to keep it.

Batman, himself, was torn. It seemed too good to be trusted.

His communicator beeped, using a tone that indicated Dick's cell phone. The boy knew he was busy; it was unlike him to interrupt for anything but a serious reason. Only Flash and the Manhunter were present, and both of them were already aware of his and Dick's identities, so he didn't bother to excuse himself.

"Dick? I'm in the middle of something here. What's wrong?"

"Hello?"

Batman started at the sound of a man's voice using his son's phone. His first thought was that it was a kidnapper contacting him for a ransom demand.

"Who is this," he demanded angrily. "Where the hell is my son and why do you have his cell phone?"

Flash and J'onn stopped what they were doing to look at him. Batman turned and walked to the other side of the room; his voice low and furious.

"I'm sorry, but is your son's name Richard?" The voice speaking didn't sound smug or demanding like a kidnapper.

"Yes. Why do you have his phone and why are you calling me?"

"My name is Nathan and I met your son at the park today," he explained briefly. "He just collapsed and is unconscious. I cannot find whoever he must have come with, but someone needed to know his whereabouts and his condition."

"Collapsed?" Batman swung his head around to glare at the laser. He knew it was too good to be true. "Where is he now?"

"Here at Mill Creek Park," came the answer. "But I already dialed 911. They will be taking him to Happy Harbor General Hospital."

"I'll be there in ten minutes," Batman told the man.

"Don't worry," Nathan assured him. "I'll make sure they know of his condition."

Batman hesitated before hanging up. "His condition?" What did this Nathan character know of Dick's condition?

"Why, his blindness, of course."

* * *

 **REACTIONS? Uh oh . . . That doesn't sound good.**


	13. Pt 12 - The Inexplicable

**No Warnings . . .**

* * *

"What can you tell me, doctor," Bruce asked.

Dick didn't make it easy, passing out in a public location, in a town that was not Gotham City. How did one explain why the boy was out alone so far from home, even if he had accompanied Wayne to the town for unknown reasons? The boy was the sole heir to the Wayne billions . . . He had no business running around by himself.

It was a question that Bruce had every intention of getting the answers for. Dick protected his identity, yes, but he knew he didn't have the same kind of freedom as his teammates to wander about alone. Even being careful, the unexpected could happen. Like today. No one could have seen this coming; no one could have predicted this.

He would deal with the problems as they came up. It wouldn't be easy, but there were benefits to having a fortune to draw upon when necessary. First and foremost, he wanted to know what was wrong with the boy.

"Based up a physical exam, a skull series, and a MRI, there appears to be no indication of a head injury, however, his pupils are fixed and unresponsive. From what I gather, Mr. Wayne, your ward isn't blind, but his eyes have decided to believe otherwise." Dr. P. Jaeger informed him.

"That – that doesn't seem possible," Bruce frowned, a shaft of fear for Dick shot through him. "How can his eyes stop working for no reason whatsoever? Even the MRI looked normal?"

"There were some small abnormalities, but absolutely nothing that would explain this."

"Abnormalities?

"Nothing exceptionally odd, but there are several areas of the brain that are more active than one might expect from an unconscious teenager, including the occipital region where the brain's eye center is located." Dr. Jaeger explained. "With no appreciative activity in either eye, this is something of a curiosity. We would like to run more tests, of course, but I understand if you wish to transfer the boy back to Gotham and the familiarity of his own physician."

"Indeed," Bruce agreed. "I will be calling in specialists as well."

"Richard has yet to awaken. I would like to see what occurs once consciousness is achieved. The spontaneous blindness might explain how the boy incurred scraped knees and a broken finger, but doesn't answer the myriad of other questions I have about his condition."

"Scraped knees and a broken finger?" Bruce asked.

"He might have received those when he passed out. That would be my guess," the doctor said.

"What caused him to pass out to begin with? Was it the result of the blindness or the cause of it?"

"That is up in the air as well." Dr. Jaeger lifted his hand helplessly. "I'm afraid all we have for you at this point is more questions and little in the way of answers. It is too soon, I suspect, but as frustrating as this is, I can assure you he is in no immediate danger that we can see. His vitals are good. But I did have another question or two for you if you have a moment. It is separate from the issue of his eyes."

"What is that?"

"Does Richard have a history of smoking?"

Bruce blinked. Whatever he had been expecting _that_ was not it.

"No. No, he understands the dangers inherent with tobacco usage. Why do you ask?"

Dr. Jaeger scratched his head. "We found indication of the early stages of emphysema and what appears to be a precancerous tumor in his right lung; something one might find in the lungs of a heavy smoker. The lungs appear to have been exposed to cigarette smoke for a number of years."

"That's impossible. I would know if Dick smoked. Alfred would know!"

"Alfred?"

"Our major-domo. He has overseen the care and keeping of various Waynes over the years, my parents at one time, me, and of course, Dick. I cannot believe the boy would be able to hide such a habit from Alfred."

"Another mystery, I see. Then perhaps you may enlighten me as to how long Richard has had arthritis?"

Bruce's mouth dropped open. "Never! The boy has lived with me for the past five years, and he has regular checkups throughout the year. His pediatrician is excellent! I cannot imagine that she would have overlooked either of these problems. Are you sure you have the correct test results for Richard Grayson-Wayne? This sounds as if these tests were taken on different people and then the results placed in his file in error."

Bruce felt himself getting angry. Everything the doctor was telling him seemed impossible, and he found himself questioning their competency. He needed to get Dick out of here. The Watchtower was closer, but he trusted Leslie to discover whatever was medically wrong with the boy.

"Where is he? I want to see him," Bruce demanded.

The doctor blinked at the change is his patient's parent. But it was not entirely surprising all considering how little they could tell him. The man was obviously frightened and beyond frustrated.

"Of course, his room number is 312. The nurse can take you there." Jaeger offered; picking up his phone. "This is Dr. Jaeger. I need someone to escort a gentleman to his son's room, please."

Bruce stood and thrust out his hand. It was a courtesy. Dick's condition had to be due entirely to his exposure to the laser. But it was giving him conditions he had never been exposed to. Considering that the ones he had been exposed to were all fatal conditions, Bruce supposed that was a blessing.

* * *

He was following the nurse down the corridor to the elevators when a man stepped out from a waiting area.

"Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce looked over to see a man in his mid-thirties approach him. He was carrying a folding cane of a blind man, but it was obvious that the man could see. In fact, Bruce frowned, he carried the dumbfounded look of a blind man who had recently been healed of his disability. Bruce began to suspect he was meeting the source of Dick's apparent blindness.

"Are you Nathan?"

"I am," he smiled. "I've been waiting, hoping really, for the opportunity to talk with you. They would, of course, tell me nothing of your son's condition, but I couldn't bring myself to leave until I knew he would be alright and there was someone with him."

A woman stood behind him with her daughter, a little girl who looked to be five or six years old. "Mr. Wayne," she said, softly. "Although Nathan said your son denied it, we would like to thank him anyway."

"Thank him? For what exactly," Bruce asked politely, and curiously.

"It's going to sound crazy," Nathan rubbed his hand nervously behind his neck. "But I was blind from birth until this afternoon. Your son sat down beside me and began talking to me. Really he was asking me questions about my blindness and what I would do if I could suddenly see. I felt someone touch my hand and it was as if someone drew back the curtains and let in the light. I was cured. Somehow I had been healed!"

Things were beginning to light up for Bruce as well.

"Imagine my consternation to discover that the source of my good fortune was just a boy who was apparently as blind as I had been previously. He said he had nothing to do with my miracle, but I feel beholden to him all the same. I was there when he passed out. He complained of a headache just prior, but assured me that it was nothing and he had them all the time. I have no idea if that is true or not, but I saw the flash of pain on his face."

Nathan shook his head in amazement. "I actually _saw_ it. Anyway, it didn't look like nothing to me. I-I was worried about him. I wanted to thank him again and tell him that we," Nathan held his arm out and his wife stepped into his embrace with their daughter between them. "My family and I wish him a speedy recovery and everything good in the world."

Bruce shook the Nathan's hand. He could understand Dick's desire to help this man; he seemed to be a genuinely good person.

"I'm am happy for your good fortune, Nathan, and wish you and your family all the best. I will tell Dick that you came to the hospital with him and wished him well. I'm sure that will make him happy." Bruce said. "Is there anything I can do for you; to thank you for staying with him when he was so vulnerable?"

Nathan frowned and glanced over at his wife and down at his daughter. "No. No, Mr. Wayne. I have been blessed enough. To ask for more would be the height of greed and ungratefulness."

Nathan slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out Dick's phone. He handed it to Bruce. "He'll be wanting this back."

"I thank you for your kindness to my son, Nathan." Bruce nodded to his wife and smiled at the daughter. "I'd appreciate it if you kept the details of your miraculous recovery out of the media, particularly any mention of Richard. It wouldn't do for people to get the idea that he were capable of performing miracles. I have enough trouble keeping him safe from people who want something from me."

Nathan frowned. "Yes, that reminds me. He was all alone in the park. He didn't even have a cane or guide dog with him. Whoever had led him to the park bench where I was sitting apparently deserted him there. No one came during the time we waited for the ambulance."

"That will be taken care of. Thank you again."

* * *

Bruce left the couple and followed the nurse to the elevator. He had a lot to think about. As he turned and watched the numbers to the floors light up, the nurse spoke, interrupting his thoughts.

"Another miracle," she murmured.

"What was that?"

"His was just another miracle to all those that were happening all over the park this afternoon," she said. "I take it you haven't been listening to the news."

Bruce shook his head.

"A woman with arthritis for the past thirty years is suddenly cured and pain-free. A boy's broken finger suddenly snapped back into place and was healed without a trace of injury." She blushed. "I know it sounds so amazing, but there were witnesses to the boy's broken finger. And there are rumors that a young, dark-haired boy was present for other reported healings as well."

Bruce looked alarmed.

"In fact, your son was the only apparent injury out of a park of miracles," she noted. After a moment of silence, she added. "His hair is dark, isn't it?"

* * *

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 **Someone's going to be in trouble . . . Perhaps in more ways than just one.**


	14. Pt 13 - What If

**Warning: Language . . .**

* * *

When Dick opened his eyes, it was to darkness. His breath caught in his throat at the thought that his healing ability had left him at the worst possible time. But then when he turned his head he caught sight of a light beneath a door. The relief that flooded his system left him weak.

He sat up carefully. He was in a bed, but he knew in an instant it wasn't his. He wasn't home. Suddenly the door opened and the large frame of Batman was silhouetted.

"You're awake," he said, moving toward the bed.

His cowl was down, but the cape gave away the costume. Dick was in his room at the mountain. His headache remained and his eyes hurt at the light, but, even as he recognized this, the headache faded away and his eyes were soothed. So, he _could_ still heal himself.

 _Thank God_!

"I'm awake," he croaked. Robin cleared his throat and repeated himself. "I'm awake." His voice sounded normal the second time.

The light came on a second later and Bruce was sitting beside him. "You can see?"

At this, Robin smiled. He could see. "I can. But it was scary there for a while. How'd I get here?"

"I brought you here after discharging you from the hospital," Bruce told him.

Robin gaped. "What?"

"What did you think would happen after passing out in a public park?" Bruce asked.

Memories of the day moved through his mind.

"I guess I kind of overdid it?"

"You _guess_?"

Bruce moved to the desk in the corner of the room and picked up a remote. The small TV in the corner suddenly came to life. On it, was news reports of the miracle healings that took place in and around Miller Creek Park in Happy Harbor, Delaware. Robin blinked. There were quite a few, and that didn't even count the bird, the dog, and the rose.

"Oh."

"Oh? That's all you can say? Dick, you healed five people the day before yesterday," Bruce snapped.

The day before yesterday? How long had he been out of it?

"Eight," Dick coughed lightly in his anxiety.

"What was that?"

Dick sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I kind of healed eight people. I guess three people haven't owned up or didn't connect their improvements with the 'miracles'."

Bruce stared at him, speechless, and that made Dick very nervous. The things that came from the kind of activities that stunned Bruce speechless didn't end happily – At least not when it stemmed from Dick's activities.

Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound, he thought, using one of Alfred's old terms.

"And some of the things weren't actually people." Dick blew out his breath.

Now, Bruce was frowning sharply, but he suddenly found his tongue. "What? What sort of things?"

"A bird's broken wing, a dog's ear, and a rose stem."

"A . . . A rose." He repeated it like he couldn't believe his ears.

Dick shrugged. "It stung a bit at the time, but the pain faded like all the rest of it."

"Ah, but there you would be wrong," Bruce reminded him. "When you were released from the hospital, your medical records now state you have the beginnings of emphysema and a precancerous tumor in one of your lungs . . ."

"The right one," Dick muttered.

Bruce glared at him. "In the right lung, correct." He continued. "You have arthritis in all of the joints of your hands and arms as well as your legs and feet."

Dick winced at the memory of that terrible, bone-deep ache.

"And then there is the blindness."

"But I don't have _any_ of that any more," Dick began, in his defense.

" _ **Don't**_! Just . . . don't!" Bruce snapped abruptly.

Dick bit his lip and glanced up warily. Just how mad was he? Bruce's glare was worse than the batglare, he quickly determined, and he felt his spine wilting under Bruce's merciless gaze.

 _Yup, pretty darn mad_ . . .

" _ **Damn it**_ , Dick! What were you _thinking_ . . .?" Bruce began; his voice picking up volume in his agitation. He paced the length of the too small room.

"That I can heal practically everything! I was just trying to help them, and I wanted to test what I could actually do!" Dick interrupted with his best defense.

"The key word in that first sentence would be ' _practically_ '." Bruce barked, spinning around to pin Dick in yet another glare.

Dick's mouth snapped closed and he unconsciously scooted back on his bed until he was pressed against the wall. He drew his knees up; wrapping his arms around him. He got it. He really did. He had scared Bruce and, admittedly, Dick had scared himself. Waking up to darkness after losing one's vision had made his heart pound.

Bruce stared at him for a long moment and then heaved a sigh. For Bruce, it was as dramatic as anything out of Hollywood. He walked over and sat down on the bed next to his son. Dick traced the stitching in the quilt with his finger, afraid to look up into the disappointment that he knew would be evident in Bruce's eyes. He had only wanted to help people, and healing people of their illnesses and injuries and disabilities now, too, was fulfilling; easily as much as putting away the bad guys.

After a long stretch of silence, he couldn't stand it any longer. Dick looked up. It was all Bruce had been waiting for, and he reached over and pulled the young teen into his arms. Startled, Dick hesitated only briefly before throwing his arms around Bruce's middle.

"I'm _afraid_ of this new ability of yours, Dick," Bruce admitted. "Clark says it should make me worry less about you, but it seems too good to be true and I cannot help but wait for the other shoe to drop. Is it permanent? Is there a limit? What happens to you if you smash into that limit head first? What if _next_ time is the last time, and you keep the affliction? What if _next_ time, you run headlong and fearless into a bullet only to find that _last_ time was the last time it worked?"

His next words came out quietly; almost too low for even Dick to hear. "What if I lose you for real next time . . .?"

Dick looked up at the man who had voluntarily stepped into the role of his father. "I can't hoard this ability, Dad. I can't just not do anything when someone is hurt; not when I know I can help them. I'm just not made that way. I'm sorry . . . Please understand."

"No. No. Don't be sorry, son. I'm afraid I understand all too well," Bruce murmured; slowly releasing the boy. "You wouldn't be who you are otherwise. But, please, have a care for the people you might be leaving behind. Deal?"

Dick sat back. "I'll do my best. I promise."

Another sigh, but this one was full more with relief than with drama.

"That's all anyone can ask of you, son," Bruce told him. "That you do your best."

"So, are we okay now?" Dick asked hopefully.

Bruce cleared his throat. "We are . . . Although, you will probably be more okay day after tomorrow."

Dick's face scrunched in confusion. "Why do you say that?"

"Because by then you should be all healed up nicely from the soreness you'll have after spending tomorrow washing every car that Bruce Wayne owns," he smirked.

" _Every_ car?!" There were twenty-three of them! Dick would have to wake and start washing at dawn!

"And once you finish with them, you can head down to the Batcave and start on _every_ vehicle that belongs to Batman as well."

Dick gaped. "B-But I can't finish all that in just a day!"

Bruce waved a hand magnanimously. "Well, since you are grounded for the entire weekend, I suppose what you don't finish tomorrow, you can get to the day after."

Dick blew out a breath as he nodded in reluctant compliance. "I guess it beats spending the weekend scraping bat guano with a butter knife."

The bark of laughter that remark sparked surprised them both. "Like Alfred would allow you to use one of his butter knives . . ."

Dick smiled weakly. He was glad Bruce was no longer so angry with him, but he was not looking forward to morning. Why couldn't Wally's MoD have given him super speed?

"Good lad," Bruce ruffled his hair and stood up. "I suggest you get some rest while you can. Five a.m. comes early."

Dick groaned and slid down in bed. Bruce pulled up the covers, and took a seat in the chair next to the bed. It didn't take a detective to realize that this was where Bruce had spent the past twenty-four hours, and would be spending the next six. Dick knew better than to suggest he go home. He closed his eyes, satisfied that the darkness wasn't permanent, and that his father would be nearby if it became necessary for him to slay a boy's nightmares.

* * *

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 **If you don't go to my profile page very often, check it out to get the latest updates and thoughts that sometimes run through my head. Such ramblings through my subconscious mind is taking this story in a whole new direction . . . Already a pretty good story, MoD 2: Renewable is about to go EPIC!**


	15. Pt 14 - Too Easy

"All of them?"

"And all of the bat vehicles, too," Robin told Wally.

They were in the Bioship and on their way to another lab with the intention of finding, this time, the actual prototype of the Red Sun Laser. Robin's eyes flitted over to Conner. He wasn't supposed to be with them, but he promised to stay safely put on the Bioship until everything was over.

His argument was that he could keep the Bioship ready in case they needed a hasty departure. M'gann wouldn't have to split her attention in a possibly critical moment. Kaldur had stared at him for long moments before reluctantly agreeing that Superboy had a point.

Robin could admit that it was a good point as well, IF Conner remained aboard the ship. He personally had his doubts that the quick-tempered clone would be disciplined enough to remain aboard if the Team became endangered . . . If _M'gann_ became endangered, he should just come right out and say. It wasn't that obvious, what was going on between those two, but Robin wasn't trained by the World's Greatest Detective to remain obtuse in the face of all the 'looks' he had accidentally intercepted. But as far as he could tell, none of his teammates had a clue as yet.

Artemis looked up from where she was adjusting her arrows in their quiver. "Exactly how many cars does your family have, anyway?"

Robin hesitated, but it passed so quickly that no one noticed. "A few," he shrugged like it was no big deal.

As he had hoped, Artemis returned her attention to her arrows believing a few meant three rather than twenty-three. Even Wally didn't realize since he still didn't know Robin's secret identity. Robin so wanted to tell him, but Batman was adamant that Robin keep his secret to himself. He was almost at the point of telling Wally anyway, but still his respect for his adopted father was enough for him to keep his promise of silence.

"Approaching Sol Tech Laboratories," M'gann's voice cut through his thoughts.

Sol Tech Labs was located in the outskirts of Richmond, Virginia. According to the file that Batman translated, the odds were good that the prototype would be located here. Like the other laboratories the Team had been investigating lately, this one also had a source of light in its name.

"Remember, Superboy," Kaldur reminded him. "You are to stay safely on the Bioship. The Red Sun Laser will strip you of your powers and leave you as vulnerable as any of the rest of us to injury or even death."

Superboy said nothing, but he did glance over at Robin. It wasn't hard to figure out that he thought Robin could mitigate that threat. He finally nodded when Aqualad continued to stare at him, waiting for his acknowledgement.

"This lab is our best bet for finding the prototype," Kaldur said. "The plan will be essentially the same as the last one. We determine who is in the building and bring them out; neutralizing and securing the guards and rounding up all of the scientists and technicians we can locate. Artemis and I will provide security while M'gann scans them for information pertinent to our mission. Robin will search the computer system while Kid Flash searches the building for the prototype."

He looked around as everyone acknowledged their parts. "M'gann, link us up."

" _Done_. _Everyone sound off_." M'gann voice appeared in their minds.

" _I'm good_."

" _Who's up for pizza after this_?"

" _Stop thinking about your stomach_!"

 _Grunting_

" _That is all of us_." Kaldur said.

* * *

The Team split up upon exiting the Bioship. M'gann began scanning the building for life forms. They came a half an hour earlier than the last time, hoping to capture and question some of the scientists involved. This mission was different in that it was less about stealth than it was about retrieving the weapon.

Last time they had been discovered and had to make due. This time they wouldn't bother worrying about discovery. It would probably assist them in emptying the building of potential threats so that Robin and Kid Flash could search without worrying about being attacked.

" _There are twenty-four lifeforms in the building_ ," M'gann's voice sounded in their heads.

The Team headed out.

Kid Flash was given twenty-four zipties and he was off. His job was to cuff and disarm everyone as the rest of them rounded the techs and guards up. If everything went well, no one would be hurt and they could release the people in an hour or less.

The rest of the team moved into the building. M'gann facilitated the evacuation on each floor by sending out a mental command for the occupants to exit the building and gather on the front lawn. Aqualad and Artemis stationed themselves at the stairwell and the door as the people filed out calmly.

"This is amazing," Artemis commented as she watched two burly guards meekly made their way past her. She was sure that in normal circumstances, those two would have been giving the team trouble. "No one will get hurt like this, and we'll be back in time to catch the late movie."

It certainly seemed smooth and efficient, but Robin didn't trust it. Never had their missions gone this easy. After their last attack on the lab in Massachusetts, Robin didn't trust that the people who were developing the weapon wouldn't be prepared for their next hit. He watched as the last of the technicians and guards moved past him.

Robin checked the building layout for the location of the server room, and headed out, as M'gann began searching the minds of their captives for the information they needed. Kid Flash skidded to a halt in front of him, grinning.

"That was awesome, dude! Why have we never done this before? M'gann can even wipe the entire episode from their minds right before we leave and they won't remember us even being here!"

Robin gave him a look, but said nothing.

"Hey, what's up? What's wrong with you?" Wally followed. "Aren't you happy with how things are going?"

Robin shook his head. "It's too easy, KF. They should have known we would be coming."

Wally's eyes widened, but then he relaxed. "No, dude. They couldn't have known which lab we would hit next."

"So, put them all on alert!" Robin said with exasperation as he pushed open the door to the server room. "KF, don't you see? This has all the markings of a trap!"

"Interesting theory," the voice had them both jumping.

Inside the room that Robin's computer had marked as the computer server room, stood a man in a suit between two obvious scientists and more than thirty guards . . . All with weapons pointed directly at the two heroes.

"How? I checked every room!" Kid Flash gasped.

"Why don't you invite your friends to join you?" the suited man asked even as he fired his weapon.

Wally moved fast to avoid being shot but was hit immediately by three other bullets almost simultaneously. He collapsed under the onslaught.

"No!" Robin cried out. He sent the warning through the mindlink that they were in trouble even as he was hit twice; bullets tearing through his shoulder and hip. Robin was spun around by the force and fell atop of Wally's unmoving form.

* * *

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	16. Pt 15 - Red, Like Blood

**WARNING: Violence and Disturbing Images**

* * *

" _TRAP, ugh_!"

Everyone jerked in reaction to Robin's aborted warning.

" _M'gann, stay with them_ ," Aqualad indicated the people sitting across the lawn. " _Artemis, with me_!"

" _What do you want me to do_ ," Superboy cried out through the mindlink.

" _Stay_! _Stay with the Bioship_! _We may need to get Robin and Kid Flash to medical treatment_." Aqualad told him.

The last thing they needed was for Conner to go down also. Whoever set the trap wouldn't be expecting Superboy to have accompanied them. He was their ace in the hole, and needed to remain so for as long as possible. Based upon the enemy's reaction, there were good odds that they had a working prototype of the Red Sun Laser somewhere on the premises.

The two heroes raced into the building, their own weapons at ready. Heroes didn't kill . . . It already put them at a disadvantage when pitted against opponents who had no compunction against using bullets on teenagers. They were met with gunfire as soon as they entered the lobby.

Aqualad used his water-bearers to create a shield behind which he and Artemis could take cover as she used her arrows to pick off their assailants.

"We can't stay here," Artemis yelled at him. "There are too many of them."

"And they are too widespread to make efficient use of your arrows," Kaldur agreed.

If their enemy were clumped together, Artemis might be able to take care of several at a time with each arrow. As it was, with yards between them, her arrows were only capable of taking down one gunman at a time.

"We need to find Robin and Kid Flash," Artemis said as she shot a net at one of the men. It took him down but didn't actually stop him from still firing his weapon. This was ridiculous, she thought, frustrated.

"Follow me," Aqualad told her.

He moved forward slowly. If they could cut a path, they might be able to rush them and get through the barrier that they created. Artemis followed closely, but failed to notice one of the men moving to flank them as he crawled along the surrounding balcony that took up three of the four lobby walls. He took aim and . . .

Artemis flew forwards with the force of the bullet hitting her in her back. As her body cleared the safety of Aqualad's shield, several more bullets riddled her. She didn't feel them, however, as the first one severed her spinal cord at seventh vertebrae. Her arms were useless, she discovered to her horror. She could draw them in, but there they stayed. Her vision wavered as shock overcame her senses and the darkness took her.

" _Artemis_!" Kaldur's cry reverberated throughout the mindlink. " _She's down_!"

* * *

M'gann reacted by commanding the people she watched over to sleep, and flying to her teammates' aid. She went incorporeal and passed through the glass panes into the lobby. Aqualad was pinned down; attempting to further protect Artemis, but from M'gann's perspective there wasn't anything left to protect. Her friend was lying in a slowly growing pool of her own blood!

"Oh no! No!" M'gann screamed. Were Robin and Kid Flash gone as well?

Even as she watched, horrified, shots were being fired at the young Atlantian from multiple sides and several grenades were thrown at him. M'gann flung three of the grenades back at their enemies. Unable to maintain her incorporeal form while using so many abilities, the percussion threw her back into the glass panels, cracking them.

Stunned, M'gann fell the twenty-five feet to the ground; landing several yards to the right of Aqualad. The mindlink disintegrated the second she lost consciousness.

* * *

"M'gann!" Kaldur yelled.

He was torn between staying with Artemis and going to M'gann's aid. He looked down at the young archer at his feet and saw staring lifeless eyes. In his shock, he stumbled back; falling down and stumbling hastily to his feet. His attention flew to M'gann and he ran to her; desperate to save someone . . . _Anyone_!

He had to get M'gann out of here; back to the Bioship and contact the League! Hopefully, Superboy had the Bioship ready. If he could save M'gann, he could come back to retrieve Artemis, as well as Robin and Kid Flash. They had not been prepared for this kind of onslaught! They had come prepared for a fight, but not for a war!

Robin had said ' _trap_ ' before he fell. They had been waiting for them. They had known about and prepared for Miss Martian's psychic abilities. More than thirty men had been hidden from her search . . . How? _How_?

A grenade rolled to a stop between Aqualad and Miss Martian. He could have stopped and brought up his shield, but the explosion would kill M'gann. Kaldur leapt over the small incendiary device, and had just brought up his shield behind him when the grenade exploded.

Kaldur's shield was not comprehensive. Fire snaked under it to lick at his feet causing the Atlantian to fall. The force wave that hit his shield pushed the young hero into his female companion and they both tumbled across the floor. Thankfully, Kaldur had still managed to keep his body between that of the grenade and the Martian.

Barely conscious, Kaldur couldn't take the chance that Superboy had contacted the League when the mindlink went down. He had to be sure. Kaldur hit his symbol on his belt.

"Aqualad to Justice League. Come in . . . _Please_ , come in!"

"Aqualad, this is the League. Go ahead," Martian Manhunter's voice crackled over the comlink.

"It was a trap! Team dead or dying . . ." Kaldur didn't have time to reflect on his failure. He was looking up into the face of his murderer. The man lifted his rifle. "You must send help . . ."

Aqualad's eyes suddenly focused beyond that of his killer; toward the movement behind the man. Through the window, a blur of red and black. There was an explosion of glass that coincided with the explosion of the weapon and Kaldur's vision became nothing but black.

* * *

Conner flew out of the Bioship as fast as his legs could carry him the second he heard M'gann's horrified scream. He didn't want to think about why the mindlink went down after that. His hearing, however, was providing him details that were sure to drive him crazy later.

Explosions! Gunshots! Screams and grunts! Kaldur's voice yelling. As he reached the building he could see the Atlantian's attempt to protect M'gann, but was confused why he would leave Artemis unprotected.

Kaldur was contacting the league; an assassin raising his weapon. Conner was running all out, but somewhere inside of him, he managed to pull out a little something extra he didn't know he had, and he leapt forward!

He was through the glass a second later and shoved the gunman so hard that he flew across the room and crashed through the drywall . . . But not before he pulled the trigger!

"NO!" Conner screamed.

His eyes scanned the bodies of his teammates; his ears listening for the telltale beats of their hearts. Artemis . . . Kaldur . . . Where were Kid Flash and Robin?

M'gann moaned and started to push herself up, when the second attack came. Conner leapt the distance and threw himself over her; taking the deluge of bullets with his own body. As consciousness flooded M'gann, she screamed; slamming her hands over her ears. At the first sign that the reign of bullets was easing, Conner swept M'gann up in his arms and raced her into the forest that surrounded the laboratory.

"Where are they?" She cried, shock and terror making her panic. "Where are they? Oh, God, Conner! I can't find them!"

It was all he could do to contain his grief! He looked back at the lab, and let the anger that had previously been simmering on the back burner; suffocating under the layer of his own shock, finally boil over. His lips pulled back into a snarl and he raced back to exact vengeance on those who had just destroyed his team . . . H-his _family_!

"Conner, no!"

But M'gann's voice was lost to the pounding of his blood in his ears, and she was too weak to stop him. He would raze that building to the ground and bury those murderers under it!

* * *

The second time Superboy entered the lobby was quieter. He hadn't been gone long. Only enough to make sure M'gann was safe; not okay, though. He didn't think anything would ever be okay again after this.

His gaze took everything in even as his rage grew in size and intensity.

The men were dragging in the bodies of Robin and Wally; leaving a wide swath of red behind them, and tossed them down next to Artemis and Kaldur with all the care they would give to garbage. He searched for signs of life, and found none; not even Robin! But he thought that Robin couldn't die! Robin could heal all things. He had saved Wally before and then himself!

 _Why couldn't he do it again_?

But then he heard a beat. Did Robin's hand just move? A gunman was standing right next to him, though. What if he noticed that the Boy Wonder was still alive? He had to buy the kid some time.

With a roar of rage, Superboy let the beast out of its cage. He might have taken out everyone, but for the man in the suit and his two companions. Conner's eyes widened as he recognized the weapon in the suit's hands as being identical to the prototype they were looking for.

The Red Sun Laser Rifle . . . A gun that was reportedly capable of killing Superman and, because they shared DNA if nothing else, _him_!

Conner's eyes darted to his teammates. Robin was moving. His head was turning. Conner could hear his heartbeat speed up in response to what he was seeing around him; the remains of his team! It wasn't likely that Robin could save all of them. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure Robin could save any of them.

 _How long had it been_? _Who would he choose_? _Wally was his best friend, but Artemis lay closer_.

It was a shame he wouldn't be around to see it. He remembered the way Wally's chest had filled in like he was a balloon and someone had just re-inflated him. It had been an amazing sight, but a distraction was needed and currently he was the only one that fit the bill.

He ran at the suited man as the weapon came up. He was almost to him; almost there. Conner reached out a hand with the intent of yanking the laser from him when a light flashed. Red flooded his vision and it was as if someone had pulled the plug on him and all the energy coursing through him just stopped. He collapsed.

The man and his companions gathered around him; smiling and shaking hands as if congratulating themselves for a job well done. But there was a red wash covering his vision; making everything appear as if a bucket of paint had been thrown over the room and everyone in it.

 _No_ , he thought. _Not paint_! Paint wouldn't account for the pain that began lancing throughout his body. It was more like blood.

 _Yes, that was it_! _Everything was red_ . . . _Red, like blood_!

* * *

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	17. Pt 16 - All Or Nothing

**Here is the next chapter, Hamato! Is that fast enough? ;D**

 **Warning: Disturbing Images . . .**

* * *

Robin gasped. Plinking noises of the bullets could be heard as they hit the ground. The pain was agonizing for a few seconds. He opened his eyes, trusting that his lenses would hide the fact that he was awake, as he attempted to assess the situation.

What had happened? He'd been shot. His eyes widened almost immediately as his memory kicked in. Wally! Wally had been shot first! He wanted to turn his head and see but needed to make sure that no one noticed him. He slowly allowed his head to roll to the side.

There were guards about. Only one near him that he could see, but everyone's attention was elsewhere. He blinked a few times trying to get his eyes to focus a little better. When they did, he almost gasped allowed.

Superboy was getting hit by the Red Sun Laser! What was he doing out of the Bioship? Where was everyone else? Fear settled into Robin's gut. Something wasn't right. Something must have gone very wrong, but what? He had sent out a warning. Had it not been enough?

Taking advantage of the guards' distraction, Robin lifted his head a bit and glanced around. He was laying on his back in the lobby area. Kid Flash was lying next to him, but Wally didn't look like he was doing very well, despite his accelerated healing. The bullets must still be inside of him. He was so still, though; too still. Unable to follow that train of thought, Robin tilted his head around and felt his mouth drop open.

Oh, no . . . _No_! No, no, no, no!

Artemis was slightly to his twelve o'clock. Her face was turned in such a way that he could see that she was dead. Her eyes were glassy and her pupils fixed. She was covered in blood. He tried not to hyperventilate. Tears were stinging his eyes and he had to blink several times.

The guards started laughing and several stepped in the direction that Conner fell. He was as vulnerable as any of them now. The lobby looked decimated from whatever battle happened here. Robin began to get an idea of what had driven Conner out of the Bioship despite the orders he had to the contrary.

He looked around and discovered that all of the guards had their back to him now. Maybe he could help Superboy, he thought desperately. He leaned up on one elbow and discovered Kaldur just beyond Artemis' body. H-His face was . . . g-gone!

M'gann wasn't anywhere to be found. Robin knew she wouldn't have deserted them, so she, too, must be injured somewhere. He hoped she wasn't dead. Prayed _she_ , at least, was still alive.

Surely the League was on its way! But it was too late now! Even if they arrived here, there was nothing left to save . . .

Gunfire shattered his thoughts, and Robin leaned up to see the last of his fears coming to fruition. The bullets hadn't bounced off of the Boy of Steel this time. Conner's body jerked as a flood of lead pierced his once impenetrable skin.

They were _gone_! All of them . . . ** _Gone_**!

* * *

Robin wanted to scream, but his voice was frozen in his throat. How can he heal them if they were already gone! He collapsed onto his back and stared at a ceiling he could no longer see for the tears. His ears ringing still from the sound of the gunfire that stole his friend's life.

As the ringing in his ears slowly waned, Robin thought back. Wally and Kaldur both had been insistent that he had died, but Robin had come back from that. He had healed himself. The arrow in his heart . . . He should have died, but he had come back from that as well; better than ever! Wally's heart had stopped when Robin began pulling his injuries from him, and later healed himself.

Batman had thought Robin had died in saving Wally. So, did that mean that Wally had been dead himself when Robin had healed him? Could it be that the MoD had given him the ability to not only cheat Death, but to steal his friends from Death's grasp as well?

Wally hadn't been dead long, though, so how long was too long?

Robin remembered the promise he had made Bruce . . . Was it just a few days ago? . . . That he would have a care for his own life. But Robin had come back from death several times. That meant that he didn't have to have a care anymore. Right?

But this was four people; all of which were already looked back at Wally. If he saved only Wally, Robin knew that the speedster would totally lose it when he discovered that the rest of the Team was gone. No, if Robin was going to save Wally, then he had to at least attempt to save them all.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. He thought of Bruce and his promise. Could he actually come back from this? He didn't know, but he prayed that Bruce would understand why he had to do this. Robin . . . No, _Dick_ thought he would . . . eventually. He would because Dick knew if Bruce had this ability himself, he would think nothing of sacrificing his own life to save those around him. He did it on a regular basis every night; he'd just had yet to actually die from it.

Bruce would understand. Eventually . . . He hoped.

People were moving back towards them. Robin relaxed his body and slowed his breathing as much as he could. He would do no one any good if he had to heal himself again first.

* * *

"Is this all of them?" The suited man asked.

"There was that Martian girl. The one with the psychic abilities," one of the guards replied. "The Kryptonian took her away, but she must have been seriously injured or she would have returned with him."

"It wouldn't have mattered if she had," the suit shrugged his shoulders, apparently unconcerned. "Psimon would have been able to handle her. He kept her from discovering us earlier, after all."

"What about our people out on the lawn. None have been able to be awakened yet."

"Gather the men and bring them into the cafeteria since the medical unit isn't equipped to handle so many. Take only Dr. Thompson and Dr. Jennings to the medical bay for treatment. The rest are replaceable, if it comes to that. The scientists, however, are not." The suit turned and looked at the pile of dead teens. "And get these bodies out of here."

"Where would you like them to go?" The guard toed Aqualad's hip idly.

"The dumpster?" The suit suggested, unconcerned.

One of the scientists that had been accompanying the suit around touched the man's shoulder hesitantly.

"It would be better if they were not found on the lab's property," he said.

The second scientist agreed. "It is likely that we will be visited by the Justice League very soon. Perhaps we can take them below for now, and have someone clean up the mess."

The suit laughed. "Clean up the mess? Broken windows, bullet-riddled walls . . .? And you think that wiping up the blood will make them give up and go away? Not hardly. In fact, although I'm not certain yet, I suspect that this one," he nudged Robin's foot, "may actually be Batman's own kid. No," he said. "They won't go away that easily."

"Psimon can help you with that," the first labcoat said. "Remove the bodies, clean what we can, and let Psimon hide the damage that remains from their senses."

The suit looked at him with new respect. "You may have something there." He turned to the guard. "Well, you heard him. Take the kids to a room below ground, and get some of the men to start cleaning this shit up! And someone send for Psimon. We have another job for him!"

The second labcoat nodded. "And hurry. We haven't much time left."

* * *

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	18. Pt 17 - At What Cost?

**Guess what? You get a TWO-FER today! That's right! Two Renewable chapters in just one day . . . You're welcome!**

 **Warning: Disturbing Images Ahead . . .**

* * *

"Hey! This one is still alive," one of the guards called out as he dragged Robin into the room with the others. "He doesn't have any bullet wounds that I can see."

"I don't know how you can tell, he's still covered in blood. You're probably just missing it. Look how limp he is. Do you think if he were unhurt, he would let you drag him and his dead friends down here?" The other guard dropped Superboy's body near the rest of them.

The first guard thought about it and shrugged. "It's unlikely. He'll follow the others soon enough, but just to make sure," he said, he dropped Robin inside the door and smashed his face with the butt of his rifle.

The crack of a cheekbone shattering filled the room.

"Satisfied," the second guard asked.

"Yup! I don't think he'll be going anywhere anytime soon."

The two guards closed the door and left without locking it.

* * *

Robin groaned, and cupped his cheek with his hand. It took almost no time for the bones to reknit. The bruise began fading before it really formed.

He rolled to his knees, and shoved a fist into his mouth to stifle the moans that seeing his Team decimated caused. He shook himself. There was no more time to lose. He staggered to his feet and stumbled further into the room. It was dark and he almost couldn't see. His boot tripped over a body and he fell, landing across someone's torso.

He scrambled off of them and felt around with his hand. One, two, three . . . Where was the fourth? Robin reached into his belt until he found his Bat-penlight. Who was missing? There! Wally was dropped closer to the corner.

Robin climbed to his feet. He couldn't help stopping long enough to check for his friend's pulse, but there was nothing. He had hoped . . . But Wally had likely been the first of them to die. Robin grabbed Wally arm and began dragging him over to the others. He could feel a pull on his energy that had nothing to do with physical exertion. This might just work! But he had to be able to touch them all. He would be unable to help them one at a time. It was going to have to be all of them or none of them.

He arranged them so that two lay next to each other on either side of him. He removed any gloves just in case the material slowed the process and then placed their hands into one another's. As he positioned himself amidst them, Robin felt a touch on his mind. He started to pull away, afraid that it was Psimon, but then recognized the familiarity of the presence.

" _M'gann_?"

" _Robin_? _Oh my God, Robin_! _You're alive_!"

" _I am, M'gann, but not for long_."

" _What_? _But I don't feel any indications of pain from you_? _Did you heal yourself_?"

" _M'gann, listen to me. I don't have much time. The others are all dead_ . . ."

" _Conner_?"

Robin ignored the burst of grief that came from the Martian girl. " _M'gann, focus. They have a working prototype of the Red Sun Laser Rifle. They used it on Superboy and then shot him. Tell Batman to warn Superman that this thing works! Do you hear me, M'gann_?"

" _Y-Yes_ ," there was a sob. " _I'm sorry . . . I'm trying_."

" _Pull yourself together, M'gann. This is important! When I saved Wally at the mountain, he was already dead. That meant I was able to bring him back to life. I think I might be able to save them_."

" _Who_? _Who are you going to save, Robin_?"

" _ **All** of them. I'm going to try to save everyone_."

" _C-Can you do that_?" M'gann's skepticism came through the mindlink.

" _I don't know, but I have to try. We're in a room in the basement. I don't think that the door is even locked. I'm not sure how well I can heal everyone, so it's likely that they will still be weak and injured, but hopefully alive. They're going to need help, though_."

" _Okay. What do you want me to do_?"

" _First, warn them about the laser rifle. Then warn them that Psimon is here and he will try to hide the battle from them. He's the reason you didn't detect the other guards and why Kid Flash didn't find them when he initially searched the place. Lastly, tell them where we are. I will try to heal myself afterwards, but I don't know how long it will take. The longest it has taken me to heal to date is a little more than a day. I'm pretty sure that this will take me longer than that_."

" _I can do that_."

" _Don't forget us_! _The men here think we're all dead, so that should buy us some time, at least_."

" _I could never forget you, Robin; not any of you_."

" _M'gann_?"

" _Yes, Robin_?"

" _If . . . If I don't come back from this, tell Batman I'm sorry. Tell him I didn't mean to break my promise, but I couldn't just stand by and do nothing. I **had** to try . . . Tell him that I lo-_ . . . _I lo_ -"

" _What was that last part_?"

" _Nothing. Just remember everything else I told you, okay_?"

" _Right. And Robin_?"

" _Yeah, M'gann_?"

" _Good Luck . . . I'll see you real soon_."

" _I'm going to hold you to that_."

* * *

Robin felt better knowing that he had a chance to say goodbye, even if it was through M'gann that he did it. He lay back and took off his other glove, stuffing it in his belt. He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. Then, closing his eyes, Robin reached out and took his friends' hands into his own.

The pull was immediate and incredibly strong. Too strong! It was tearing him apart!

Robin screamed, then . . . It might bring guards running, but he was beyond caring; beyond noticing. His world caved in and darkness swallowed him whole but he didn't lose consciousness. Nothing existed in that time except his pain and his screams!

* * *

Someone was screaming . . . It tugged at him. Made him a little more aware. There was pain in that place, but it was far away and getting farther.

But the screams . . .

They bothered him.

Made him curious.

Made him want to go see who it was that was in such terrible agony. Maybe he could help him. The thick foam that surrounded his mind and kept him from feeling; separated from the world around him was disintegrating.

The screams grew louder; more intense. As if he were getting closer to the source.

His lungs burned as if he had been holding his breath too long. Involuntarily, he gasped. His lungs expanded and it felt . . . good.

He could smell now, and it made him frown and crinkle his nose in distaste. What was that, he wondered? And yet, even as he asked himself the question, he knew. He recognized it for what it was.

Blood.

Death?

Maybe.

Worried, he forced his eyes open. It was dark, but a small light was shining up at the ceiling from somewhere above his head.

Above his head?

He was lying down.

The screams were less intense now. Quieting. It was better, he thought. They were disturbing and loud.

He noticed a weight on one of his hands. Texture. Form. Hands.

He felt hands. They felt different, however. Both were smaller than his own, but one was softer and slender. The other was smaller still, but not by much. It was, however, rougher.

Curiosity made him tilt his head.

Blonde hair.

The head shifted and he was looking into the face of . . . What was her name?

Artemis.

He smiled. She smiled.

He realized suddenly that the screaming had stopped at some time. When?

He couldn't remember exactly when.

All that was left were some low moans. Weak, and growing weaker.

He was tired, but no longer so exhausted.

The moans stopped and the room was silent.

There was a noise from beyond him. The sound like . . . clothing rubbing against something. He and Artemis were not alone.

Bracing himself, he sat up and looked around.

His eyes focused on the two males that were waking up and beginning to move around.

They were familiar, too.

Kaldur and . . . Conner.

His eyes dropped to the form lying right next to him. The smaller, rougher hand he had felt. The source of the . . . screaming? Concern filled him.

Who was he? Who?

Robin . . .

The name came out of nowhere, but it held meaning. His newly-found breath hitched in his throat.

This was his friend. His very best friend.

It was his screams that had urged him back from the darkness. His moans that had stopped so recently.

As his memories slammed into him all at once, Kid Flash cried out suddenly in despair!

"Robin! No! _No_!"

A hand gripped his shoulder, and Wally looked up at Kaldur.

"He saved us. I think he saved us all."

Conner had been sitting quietly until now.

"Why would he do that," the young clone asked.

Artemis looked back at them from where she knelt in the corner. She had had to throw up upon seeing the combined damage of their wounds upon the small form of her teammate; her f-friend. He was nearly unrecognizable. It was only by his costume and general size that they knew. That and the fact that only Robin was hero enough to give his life for his friends after they had already died.

"Because he could, Conner," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"But at what cost," Kaldur asked. "Will he be able to come back from _this_?"

Wally looked up, tears streaking his face. "I don't know," he said. Looking at the devastation, he shook his head. "But how can anyone come back from this?"

* * *

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	19. Pt 18 - Too Much

**I apologize for the longer than usual update. Working way too many hours and getting not enough sleep. Don't you hate it when reality intrudes on one's fan fiction writing time? I swear, if I didn't need little things like electricity and food, I'd write all the time.**

 **WARNING: Graphic and Traumatic Imagery, some language . . .**

* * *

"What the hell happened?"

"Batman," Black Canary ran interference. She was part of the first team from the League to arrive at the lab after Aqualad's initial call for help. "You need to remain calm."

She almost flinched at his sudden stillness. It was nearly as frightening than if he had attacked her because this meant he was thinking, deciphering her words to detect the hidden meaning. And when he figured it out . . .

"Where is the team? I was informed that they sent out a distress call." Although his eyes remained hidden behind those white opaque lenses, she could feel them sweeping the lobby, taking in the heroes milling about, all of them looking rather worthless to a man used to quick, decisive action.

"Psimon is somewhere here. Things are being hidden from us," she explained.

He threw a cold glance at her. Canary knew he wasn't blaming her for the current situation but she had to suppress a shiver. Batman searched the lobby and found Martian Manhunter on the balcony with his niece, M'gann. The young Martian female was the only member of the team that was present. Not bothering with the stairs, Batman shot a line to one of the ceiling supports. He cleared the railing, landing in front of the six foot seven alien. It was obvious that he would prefer to interrogate M'gann personally but, in deference to her upset, Batman aimed his questions at her uncle.

"J'onn, what can you tell me? Is Psimon still present?" He barked this at the towering alien.

To those who knew him, Batman's abruptness was a testament to his concern. Still, it was not nearly what one might expect when he considered the fact that Batman, himself, had a personal stake in the team's welfare. It was these non-reactions that lent itself to his reputation for being a cold-hearted bastard but Black Canary was one of the few that understood that, just this year, Robin had become much more to the Batman than just his partner. Aware of both heroes' identities beneath the masks, she knew that Bruce Wayne had only just completed adopting Dick Grayson as his son a mere four months prior. If Batman's exterior was emotionless, she knew that his insides had to be in turmoil.

"Yes, he is," M'gann answered for her uncle. She faced the Batman as bravely as she could, fresh tears streaking her face. She pointed at a panel of glass. "I cracked that glass when I was thrown into it and Superboy crashed through the one beside when he rescued me."

Batman frowned. "Superboy was benched for this mission. What was he doing here?"

M'gann bowed her head. "He was staying with the Bioship. He only came once he realized that the team had fallen. H-he saved my life."

"Then, where is he?" Batman barked. "And for that matter, where is the rest of the team?"

J'onn stepped forward, placing his hand on his niece's shoulder, a protective, if unnecessary gesture. "No one told you."

Batman leaned forward, his teeth grinding audibly as he growled. "Told me _what,_ specifically?"

M'gann began weeping in earnest. "It was a trap! Robin tried to warn us but, by then, it was too late. They were prepared for us! Prepared even for me!" She forgot herself and grabbed hold of Batman's arm. "They _knew_ we were coming!"

He sent a batglare at J'onn. "Can you find Psimon? Can you neutralize him?"

"He remains hidden from me, I'm afraid," J'onn answered him.

Even as he spoke, however, the air seemed to waver around them as it would if it were heated. Everyone present stumbled as a wave of vertigo washed over them. When it was over, the adults stood gaping at the room around them in alarm, the illusion now gone and the damage from the fight finally exposed. The cracked panel and broken glass were exactly as M'gann had described them but all eyes were drawn not to the destroyed glass but to the charred, bullet-riddled walls, the broken plaster, and . . . the lake of blood in the middle of the floor. There were streaks of red where broken, bloody bodies had obviously been dragged both into and out of the room. They stared in horror at the blood that marred the boots of those that had inadvertently walked through it and the bloody footprints that had been tracked throughout the lobby.

"Oh, dear God," Black Canary cried. "Are they still alive?"

There was so much blood, it seemed impossible. All eyes went to M'gann.

"I spoke to Robin through the mind link just before you arrived," she told them. "The others . . ." More tears fell as she shook her head. "He said . . . He said, he was going to try to save them."

Batman grabbed her arm. "You just inferred that the rest of the team was dead! Is that not the case?"

J'onn gently removed Batman's hand telekinetically. When he glared at the Martian, J'onn reminded him. "You were _hurting_ her."

"It's okay, Uncle J'onn. I know he didn't mean to." M'gann said, even as she unconsciously rubbed at the spot. She met the Dark Knight's gaze sadly. "Robin told me to tell you that he's sorry he had to break his promise but that he had to try. He said that he would attempt to heal himself afterwards. H-He asked that you wait for him."

" _Heal himself_? How do you heal _death_?" Batman snarled. "Where is _he_? Where is the team?"

"Robin said that they had been taken to a room in the basement." M'gann told him.

Green Lantern immediately flew off, chasing the trail of blood. Batman shot his grapple, leaping from the balcony and taking off after Lantern at a run. Canary followed right behind him.

"M'gann! Did Robin succeed?" Green Arrow called up to them. The man looked visibly shaken from where he stood next to the blood.

"I-I don't know," she admitted. "He broke the link. Let me see if I can connect with him."

As her eyes began to glow, she suddenly staggered. Even as J'onn caught her, she gasped, throwing her head back and screaming. The sound was horrific. Her uncle placed his hand on her face in an attempt to break the link but he, too, fell against the balcony railing, dropping to one knee. M'gann collapsed on the floor beside him, clutching her head and moaning.

Wonder Woman and Arrow were beside them in seconds.

"Are you alright, little sister?" Wonder Woman kneeled next the girl, drawing her into her arms in an effort to comfort her.

M'gann couldn't speak yet. She could only shake her head over and over.

"I think . . ." J'onn began, shakily. "I think that she connected with Robin during his attempt to heal the Team. Although, I only felt a mere brush of the process, it-it was _excruciating_!"

* * *

It wasn't difficult to find the correct floor. They only had to follow the trail of blood . . . that and the sound of screaming. When it stopped, Green Lantern paused, hesitating at the sudden silence. Batman barreled past him. None of them wanted to know what horrors caused the screams but, what terrified them more was the possible reason they had stopped. The grisly path ended underneath the third door down the secondary hall and on their left. Whether it was locked or unlocked wasn't a concern as Green Lantern used his ring to crush and remove the door.

Batman and Canary halted at the threshold. The team was sitting up groggily. They were covered from head to toe with blood, only a glimpse of green or yellow or black broke up the swath of red. Although their costumes were riddled with bullet holes, none seemed the worse for wear despite their numerous, still-healing scars.

Artemis, hunched near a corner, scrambled to her feet as soon as she recognized them and ran to Black Canary, throwing herself into the woman's arms, weeping. Canary looked startled at the girl's uncharacteristic show of emotion. This was not the tough exterior that the scrappy archer normally presented to the world.

"Are you kids alright?" Lantern asked. He, too, seemed shocked by their appearances but it became obvious that things were far from all right as the three boys slowly climbed to their feet. Their bodies no longer hid the worst from view.

"No," Kaldur said, his voice breaking. For all that he was their leader, for all of his maturity, the young Atlantian appeared in that moment almost fragile. "No, we are _not_ alright."

Had they ever thought Batman was without emotion?

"Bru- Batman?" Canary reached out with one hand but he was suddenly moving.

"Oh . . . God," Hal gasped, catching sight of what had shaken the Bat to his core.

Batman pushed his way through the teens, desperate to get to his son, but the moment his eyes fell upon the destroyed shell, he hesitated, swaying. Wally and Superboy, the only ones in a position to observe it, realized that even the cowl couldn't hide the devastation that lay beneath it. Batman fell to his knees beside his son's body, losing count of the number of bullet holes that tore through the boy. It seemed a cruel twist that the bullets themselves covered the floor where they had been pushed from the healing bodies of the boy's teammates while Robin's own body bore witness to the violence that the projectiles had inflicted.

With a careful deliberateness, Batman gently scooped up the remains of his son. There was little left to Robin's face but he caressed what there was with one hand. He ran his gloved fingers through the boy's blood-soaked hair. His breath was ragged as Batman pressed his son's limp body to his heart, covering what was left with his cape.

It seemed impossible for Robin to overcome something like this. It was too much . . . It _had_ to be too much!

How could his son ever come back from **_this_**? How could Dick ever hope to heal _**this**_?

* * *

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 **This is a really big fix! Can he heal it? Or will the challenge be too great for him?**


	20. Pt 19 - The Loss and Comfort of Hope

**In this AU, only a select few know Batman's secret identity; and even fewer understand the dynamics surrounding his and Robin's relationship. If I haven't explained this before, in this universe, 13 year old Dick Grayson was officially adopted by Bruce Wayne just four months prior to this story.**

 **WARNING: Some Strong Language . . .**

* * *

"It's been five days! _Five days_!" Wally begged his uncle. "Why can we not see him yet?"

Flash looked desperately at the other mentors. Green Arrow and Black Canary stood with him, blocking the entrance to the zeta tubes. The Martian Manhunter and even Aquaman were present. Red Tornado stood behind the Team.

"They will need to be told," Tornado said. "I do not understand the need to procrastinate as you have."

"You're not helping, Red!" Flash snapped.

"Where is Batman, at least," Aqualad asked. "Certainly he knows enough to ease our minds."

"He's on the Watchtower," Aquaman supplied. "With Robin."

"We should be there, also," Wally demanded. "He's out teammate! He's our friend!"

"He saved our lives," Artemis injected. "He literally snatched us from death. That, at least, should give us the right to know what is going on."

Green Arrow looked a little helplessly at Black Canary. She sighed. She didn't want to do this. Her gaze met that of the Flash.

"Red Tornado is right," she said. "They deserve the truth."

"Batman hasn't given up yet. We shouldn't rush this," Flash insisted.

"Given up?" Artemis glanced back and forth between the adults. "Wait! Do you mean Robin hasn't healed from this yet?"

"What?" Wally gasped. "B-But he healed me when Supey crushed my chest! He brought me back from that and healed up in like thirty minutes!"

M'gann turned to her uncle. "Robin took nearly two days to come back from healing too many people too quickly in Happy Harbor! He said it might take him longer. A-Are you saying that he's still . . . d-dead? After five days, he hasn't shown any improvement _at all_?"

J'onn closed his eyes and bowed his head. He couldn't look at his niece's face as he admitted the facts. "We haven't been able to detect any perceivable improvement, no."

The teens stared in horror at one another. Robin had healed from everything before. Why not this, too? They had handled the trauma of their disastrous mission so well _**only**_ because they believed that their youngest teammate would be all right. None of them had been willing for him to give up his life for them.

"B-But . . . He's supposed to be all right!" Wally's statement held a distinct whine as he fought back against the knowledge of what the adults were struggling so hard not to say.

Flash put a hand on his nephew's shoulder. "Batman is still hopeful. He hasn't given up yet."

"Don't, Flash," Canary told him. She leaned against Green Arrow for support. "Just . . . don't. Batman is in denial. What he's doing is not healthy, and refusing to accept the truth will not help anyone at this point."

"He hasn't shown any sign of deterioration either," Flash argued. "It-It's like he's in some sort of suspended animation. I don't agree to simply writing the boy off as a lost cause until we can see at least some sort of breakdown in his body chemistry."

"And I believe that by holding out hope for extended periods is doing more harm than good. Batman refuses to leave Robin's side. The longer he take to accept Robin's gone, the harder it will be for him to recover. I refuse to do that to them. They need to be able to start the grieving process so they can begin to move past this." She looked at the teens. "I'm sorry. I-I think it was too much for Robin. We . . . We don't believe he's going to be able to come back from this one. I'm so sorry."

The teens stood stunned by this revelation. Wally turned back to his uncle. If Uncle Barry believed Robin was going to be okay, then Wally would continue to wait for his friend.

"Uncle Barry," he spoke low. "You don't believe that though, do you? You said it's like he's in suspended animation. He isn't . . ." Wally swallowed hard. ". . . decomposing. Right?"

Flash sighed. "Wally, I . . . I don't know what to tell you." After a long moment Flash hung his head in defeat. "He doesn't appear to be healing, either."

Unable to keep silent anymore, Superboy slammed his fist into the cave wall, sending a shower of dust over everyone. "So, you're just going to give up on him? Is that it? Robin said he was going to try to heal himself!"

Conner looked at M'gann for confirmation. At her hesitant nod, he turned back to the others. "We have to give him _time_! You can't just . . . just _bury_ him because you think he's taking too long! He brought four of us back from the fucking grave! That deserves more than a lousy five days!"

Aquaman held out his hands to the troubled clone. "And how long is long enough, Superboy? How long do _you_ think we should wait before you accept the inevitable?"

Conner clenched his fists. A lone tear slithered down his face. " _However long it takes_ ," he yelled. Spinning on his heel, Superboy stalked out of the cave.

Silence hung over the others for several long minutes.

"We're not leaving you," Canary told them. "All of us are going to remain here with you for the next few days . . . In case any of you want to talk about this."

* * *

One by one the teens turned away without a word and left the room. None of them sought out the others. All appeared to need time alone to absorb the news and try to adjust to a new reality; one in which one of their own had died in order that they might live.

Canary glanced around at the other Leaguers. "It is vitally important that we remain available to them. As they begin to accept this, they will all be forced to deal with some level of survivor's guilt."

"It might behoove us to request Superman's presence." J'onn stated softly. "Conner will not accept this news quietly. He will not process this information peacefully. He will need someone who is capable of helping him deal with his grief who isn't prone to . . . breaking."

"That may be difficult, J'onn," Green Arrow said. "Big Blue has yet to remain in the room with the boy for longer than a few minutes."

"It is not Kal-El's discomfort that needs addressing here," J'onn pointed out. "It is now past time for him to become the grown-up in this situation. Conner's need outweighs his own."

"And what of Batman," Aquaman asked. "How is he holding up? You stated that he has yet to give up on Robin. We all know how close . . . Well, how close the boy was to him. He is always so stoic. I can only assume that this is upsetting for him."

"It's like I said, Arthur," Dinah rubbed at a spot on her temple with one hand. "He's like a dog with a bone. He is in complete denial. He refuses to even contemplate the fact that we've seen no improvement at all in Robin in a week. I-I fear for his sanity when he is finally forced to face a loss of this magnitude."

"His sanity?" Arthur questioned. "I mean I assumed he cared for the boy, but . . ."

"Robin was his _son_ , Arthur," Canary shared quietly. "He didn't want it to become public knowledge."

Arrow frowned at the woman in his arms. "Why the hell not? Robin was a great kid! Why wouldn't he want to acknowledge that?"

J'onn chose to answer his question. "He felt that if his enemies realized the depth of his emotions for the boy, that Robin would become a bigger target than he was simply by being the Batman's partner."

"But _we_ aren't his enemies," Aquaman drew his shoulders back in offense. "Why withhold showing his affection amongst his friends?"

"He is . . ." J'onn hesitated. "He is a very private person."

Arrow snorted. "What you mean is that he still doesn't trust us!"

Dinah turned in Arrow's arms and touched his face; bringing the archer's attention back to her. "Ollie, you need to keep in mind that he is facing a terrible loss right now; and is having a hard time accepting it."

The others didn't understand. Well, J'onn would, she thought, but the others didn't know of Bruce's past, and they had only the vaguest understanding of his life now. Those present didn't know that Bruce had lost his parents as a child, and through that act of violence had been born the grief and anger and determination that had led to the creation of the Batman. But as great a loss of losing one's parents had been for him; it would be swallowed up whole by the devastating grief of a parent who had just lost a child . . . Because no man should ever be forced to bury his son.

And she couldn't help wondering what the cost of this loss would be for the rest of the world. What would the loss of Robin create or destroy in the wake of his death? And would they be able to bear it?

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **TWO CHAPTERS! Hope this makes up for the lull . . .**

 **What do you think? Should we give up hope and begin grieving as so many of the JLA have? Or should we hold on as Batman, Superboy, and Kid Flash are doing?**


	21. Pt 20 - A Storm Is Coming

**Warning: Some Language . . .**

* * *

"What are you doing, Bruce?"

Clark's voice brought him out of his revelry, out of his self-castigation, out of his mind which wasn't a pleasant place to be at the moment. Bruce had difficulty restraining himself from thinking. He deserved the torture of his mind. His boy was gone.

"What are _you_ doing here, Clark?" Not that Bruce cared about the answer. He just wanted to be left alone in his grief.

"It's been three days, Bruce. Alfred is getting a little worried about you." And frankly, so was Clark.

"What did you expect would happen, Clark?" Bruce's voice was hard. "When the League forced my hand; forced me to accept Dick's death, what the hell did you think would happen?"

"Not this," Clark admitted. "We didn't expect you to quit. Nor did anyone expect you to stand out here day and night for three days after you put him in the ground. Bruce, Dick wouldn't want you to give up like this."

Bruce whirled on his 'friend', snarling in the larger man's face. "And yet that is exactly what all of you demanded I do! Give up! And what did it get me? My son in the cold, hard ground! You'll have to forgive me if I'm not ready to let him go just yet and resume life as usual!"

Clark ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "You know what I meant. Dick wouldn't want you to . . ."

"Shut up, Clark," Bruce snapped. "Or in the words of Robin, 'get bent'!"

"You're making yourself ill. You look terrible. When was the last time you slept? Have you even eaten anything recently?"

Clark knew the answers to these questions already from talking to Alfred. Bruce hadn't slept in four days; sitting up with Dick's body the night before the funeral. It had been longer since he had eaten.

"Wouldn't want to do that. Maybe you'll decide I'm taking too long to get better and bury me out here next to my son," Bruce growled as he turned his back on his one-time friend.

"That's not fair, Bruce. We waited with you; every step of the way. There _was no_ healing! I couldn't see any sign of it. Barry couldn't find any sign of it. Even J'onn couldn't connect with Dick's mind. He was gone, for all that his body remained intact."

Intact. Well, if one could call it that. They had covered the region of Dick's face with gauze and wrapped it up lightly. The bullet holes that had riddled his body were left untouched, however, but were only covered up by cloth.

It had been the worst thing Clark had ever done, and the hardest; far more so than facing Darkseid or Brainiac. Day seven, he had accompanied several Leaguers to insist that Bruce accept the inevitable and make arrangements for Dick's body. In the end, two of their members were still laid up in the medical bay with injuries and Clark had been forced to physically carry Batman from the room. He wished that they could have given him more time, but Dinah and J'onn had convinced Clark that the Team would never move ahead without having the opportunity to gain some closure; that Bruce had to let go and give his son the peace he deserved.

Now, three days after interring the boy's body into the ground, Alfred had called him for help. He came only after being assured by the butler that, as Bruce, he didn't normally carry Kryptonite on his person while at the manor. It had been a little hairy there for a while on the Watchtower.

Clark sighed. "You can't stay out here anymore, Bruce. It's time to go inside."

"And you need to leave."

"I'll make you a deal," Clark said. "If you go inside; eat, shower, take a nice long nap, I'll be gone before you wake up."

Bruce remained where he was staring down at the chunks of dirt covering his boy; his . . . his son.

"He asked me to wait on him. He's come back from the dead before, Clark. What if he wakes up down there? What if he wakes up in the dark, all alone, and discovers I didn't wait for him? He's going to think I threw him away!"

Bruce was getting agitated. Clark had never seen the man so utterly distressed like this. Angry, yes, but this . . . This seemed unnatural to the man Clark had come to see as a brother.

 _Ah, shit_ , he thought as the realization struck him. This was worse than Alfred had led him to believe. Bruce was actually in danger of digging the boy's body up! _This can't be healthy_ . . .

Unable to see another way, Clark stepped closer to the other man, and taking advantage of his friend's all-consuming grief, flicked him in the back of the head with his finger. Clark caught Bruce as he fell and picked the man up, cradling him against his chest as one might a child. Bruce's head rested against Clark's shoulder.

* * *

It was a long walk back to the manor. Clark lifted a few inches above the ground and began floating back toward the house. His gaze caught sight of the darkening sky.

 _A storm is coming_.

He suppressed a shiver of foreboding. He had come just in time. Bruce would have certainly succumbed to sickness had he remained throughout another night's vigil during a storm. He would have to have Alfred call Leslie. Perhaps Bruce's doctor could prescribe him a sedative of some kind. Maybe Alfred already had some on hand, but just no way to bring the younger man back to the house on the off chance that he could convince Bruce to take one.

Either way, Bruce would be getting the rest he needed. His exhaustion and the tap Clark had given him should ensure several hours, at least, although he wasn't exactly sure how restful unconsciousness was. He could only hope that Bruce would wake in a more reasonable frame of mind. Clark knew that he would never again get the drop on the man, even in this identity.

No, the next time Clark came, if there was a next time after this, he was positive that Bruce would be carrying Kryptonite on him no matter his guise.

Clark was saddened by the loss of his pseudo-nephew, but even more so, he would miss his friend. Like Alfred, he was worried about the man. He let his eyes drift to the outline of the city in the distance, and worried a bit for Gotham as well. It was almost as if Bruce had died with the boy, and he wondered if any of them would ever fully recover from the death of this one child.

He was nearly back to the manor when the soft sound of what he thought was a gasp and a sigh drifted to him. It sounded muffled, however, and rather far away. Clark stopped, hovering briefly, listening. No other sound similar came to him. He used his vision to scan the forest surrounding the formal grounds, but there was no one. He turned around and saw Alfred in the distance, wringing his hands and looking older than Clark ever remembered seeing him.

It must have been Alfred he had heard, Clark decided.

He must have startled him, what with carrying his eldest charge back like a drooping damsel. Satisfied, he continued on. He would help Alfred get Bruce comfortable and then assist the elder man to batten down the manor in preparation of the huge storm brewing on the horizon before heading back to Smallsville.

Clark was suddenly missing his parents very much.

* * *

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	22. Pt 21 - A Multitude Of Worries

**WARNING: Some Language, Disturbing** **Scenario . . .**

* * *

His first thought was that the air smelled stale.

That, and how much his face **_hurt_**!

It was an automatic gesture to raise his hand in an effort to feel his face, but his hand bumped into something hard. No, wait. It was padded. Satin material . . . He pushed but it had no give at all.

Anticipating pain upon opening his eyes, when they finally peeked through his lashes, he discovered that he was in complete darkness. For a minute, he thought that the blindness had returned, but then his hands had completed their roaming and he realized; he wasn't blind . . .

 _Oh God_! He was _buried alive_!

* * *

"He's not going to thank you, you realize," Alfred said.

Clark looked down at his shoes and then allowed his gaze to sweep over the Batcave. There was a very good chance that this was the last time he would be seeing it. An odd pang of sentiment washed over him.

"He's going to need more help than _I_ can give him, Alfred. He was preparing to dig the boy up! Was he like this before? I mean, I know he was a child then, but when his parents were . . . Did he refuse to believe they had died?"

"No. No, he knew better than anyone that they were gone," the older man told him quietly. "But then again, _they_ apparently hadn't cheated death before either."

Alfred sighed. "He _is_ really gone, isn't he? You were sure of this before you insisted he be buried, weren't you? You gave the boy enough time to heal this?"

"We waited seven days; more than three times the amount that the boy had used to heal any of his previous injuries. We detected no sign of healing in all that time. And trust me, Alfred, we were all looking. Nobody wanted this."

The funeral had been especially hard on the butler. Clark knew the man looked upon his charges as family. It is difficult to say goodbye to a closed casket, however, but with the boy missing half of his face, there had been little choice. But then, it had been hard on everyone. Bruce refused to go to the actual service, and later had to be physically restrained just to allow the grave to be filled in.

Leslie had tried to give him something, but he had refused adamantly. And now, according to Alfred, had been standing vigil over Dick's grave ever since. That he hadn't attempted to dig the child's body up in the intervening days was surprising, but today Bruce had evidently reached some kind of limit.

Clark looked at Alfred. "Would it do him any good if I were to remove Dick's body? I could take him away, at least for a while, until Bruce is ready to accept it."

Tears sparkled in the old man's eyes. " _No_. Oh no, Master Kent. I fear what that may do to him. He would _never_ forgive that, I think. No, leave the boy where he lay."

Clark sighed. "You'll call me if he tries to do something crazy, won't you?"

"I am praying that after he rests and eats a little something, Master Bruce will be in a better position to accept what has come to pass. Although he will be soon setting his sights on the men who caused this." Alfred told him quite seriously. "I cannot say that I have any sympathy left to spare for them, however."

Clark frowned. "You don't think he'd step over that line, do you, Alfred?"

The butler met his gaze with a hard stare. "I don't know that _**I**_ wouldn't step over that line at this point, Master Kent."

"Alfred . . ."

"I'm certain that I will call you posthaste should I fear Master Batman is in danger of crossing that boundary . . . No matter how much I might feel that the bastards, for whom murdering children was an acceptable course of action, deserve such a fate."

Clark was a little startled at the depth of anger he found in the elder servant. But then again, Alfred wasn't a mere servant despite the fact that Bruce paid him for his services. He was something more than that – far more, as this reaction was quick to reveal.

Without another word, Clark stepped into the zeta-tube. He wouldn't be surprised to discover that Bruce began dismantling it as soon as he woke up. The light swallowed the cave and when it faded, he stepped out and into the Watchtower. Mourning anew the loss of his brother as well as the boy he had claimed as a nephew. Forgiveness wouldn't likely be found in Batman for what he would deem as a betrayal of the worst sort. Forgiveness, in Batman, was a substance far rarer than Kryptonite.

* * *

Dick tugged the gauze away from his face with a shudder. He could remember what Kaldur's face had looked like and touched his own face in an effort to reassure himself that he was whole. Had he succeeded in saving the others, he wondered? He had obviously taken on the injuries of the others, seemingly enough that no one had expected him to be able to heal it.

He swallowed the bile that rose up in his throat. Panic would only hurt him at this point. But knowing this didn't stop his body from trembling or make breathing any easier when his mind could practically feel the weight of the earth on top of him. It was all he could do to not scream his head off, but that would only use his oxygen up faster. He had to find a way out or he might be forced to spend an eternity of waking up in this darkness; suffocating; and then repeating the cycle over and over again as his body continued to bring him back only to succumb to death yet again. He would be driven mad.

No, he had to keep his head about him. He forcefully shoved aside his worries in favor of something productive. He had to find a way out. He had to not think about how his friends and . . . and Bruce had given up on him; how they hadn't been willing to wait for him.

Biting his lip to contain his whimpers, Dick began to search his coffin for a weakness. His fingers searched the cracks and crevices, and as they began the search yet a third time, he paused to wipe away the dampness from his face. Tears and sweat, and, after licking his lips he discovered, blood; all of it a testament to his concentration and his desperation.

He would have to turn around, he thought. Maybe there was something at the foot of the coffin that would better serve as a way to escape.

The thoughts had barely been acknowledged when Dick felt it. It had been in his pocket the entire time. He pulled it out; his fingers recognizing it even if his eyes were still useless in the utter blackness. Flicking the switch, light flooded the small, confined space.

Dick laughed. He didn't know if having the light was better or not, but someone had thought to leave it for him. He looked at the small penlight. Not a batlight . . . It looked like some of the equipment found at the mountain. Wally, maybe? The Team didn't know his identity, but maybe they had been told when the decision had been made to bury him. Maybe they had been allowed to say goodbye.

Either way, _someone_ had had faith in him.

He smiled. And if they thought he might wake up in here and need a light, then maybe, just maybe, they might have thought he would need other tools in order to escape!

Dick renewed his search with new energy; still careful to conserve what oxygen that remained.

* * *

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	23. Pt 22 - Eureka

**I haven't had enough time to actually do much in the way of editing yet. It's time to go to work now, so I am posting it as is, and will edit this later. Try to look over any mistakes in the meantime.**

 **WARNING: Disturbing Scenarios . . .**

* * *

Bruce awoke to a blinding headache. Damn Clark and his meddlesome ways!

He rolled his aching head and glanced to the window. It was already dark outside! The storm that he smelled earlier was nearly upon them, he noted, as branches from a nearby tree slapped at his window violently.

His throat clenched around the knot there and he struggled against the now-familiar tingle in his sinuses that heralded emotions too great to deal with. His boy was out there in this, alone!

Bruce threw the covers back angrily and sat up on the side of his bed; rubbing his face in his hands and shoved the tremendous ache in his chest down . . . At least enough that he might function. His knees nearly buckled when he tried to stand. He knew he needed to eat. He didn't need Alfred's mothering to tell him that, but his appetite had fled on the day the League decided that his son's healing ability had deserted him; the day they had put Dick in that damned box. Pretty it up any way you felt like it; it didn't change what it was or its purpose.

But he needed to eat despite his lack of hunger because he needed to keep his strength up. Those bastards had killed his son. They had murdered his Team, and in doing so, forced the untenable decision on a child to give up his life for those of his friends.

He changed into something warm, the temperature had dropped when the sun went down, and headed to the Batcave. He could still accomplish something. He needed to find these men and the organization they worked for . . . And then he would move heaven and earth to bring them down.

Some might say this was vengeance rather than justice. They would be wrong . . . But not completely. They would pay for their crimes, and if they spent the rest of their lives eating through a tube . . .? Well, it still wouldn't be enough.

He didn't want to believe it was so, but if Dick was truly gone, it would never be enough!

* * *

Dick discovered a screwdriver tucked beneath that uncomfortable satin pillow. He wasn't sure who might have left it for him, but he wondered if it were the same person. If it were, how had he not manage to get caught shoving everything into the casket without someone noticing?

He had been awake for a couple of hours now and he was breathing harder already. It was also getting kind of warm in the confined space, what with his newly-restored body heat and the little penlight. He was a little worried about the battery life of his light. He still needed it. The idea of having to find and work free screws in the dark was daunting, but he would admit that losing his light was even more frightening.

He turned over and shoved the worthless pillow out of his way as he began ripping the satin from the end of the casket above his head. If he could somehow pry that piece away, then he could begin digging his way to freedom.

A wave of dizziness washed over him. His panting was loud despite the sound absorption of the padding. It made him wonder if they put the padding in there to muffle the sounds of those poor unfortunates that, like him, were buried by mistake. Would walking through the cemeteries be filled with the screams of the living were it not for the satin-lined padding in all the caskets?

His oxygen was getting low. His thoughts were strange and scattered. He found the first screw. It was difficult. It had been tightened with a machine apparently. Too bad Wally's MoD hadn't bestowed super strength on him as well.

Dick decided he needed to take a break and turned off the light to preserve the battery. His breathing immediately hitched into hyperventilation and he struggled to turn the light back on. When the casket was once more filled with light, Dick worked to get his breathing back under control, but it was impossible. The oxygen was too low and the carbon dioxide was getting too high.

He needed a rebreather. It would assist him in stretching out his meager oxygen supply until he could escape. Why wouldn't whoever left him the light and screwdriver not left him a rebreather or some small oxygen supply?

He blinked.

Why wouldn't they? Maybe they had? Dick had stopped searching the moment he had discovered the screwdriver. Maybe there was something else here to help him?

* * *

Bruce couldn't concentrate. He was missing something. The information he needed to take him the next step was here, but his mind wouldn't settle. He brought up all the hidden security cameras throughout the house. All seemed to be in order.

He brought up the cameras across the property. He searched all the movements and shadows brought on by the storm, but could find nothing to indicate anything sinister lurking about. He went further afield. The camera near the cemetery. It lay far arear the back of the property. He almost never brought this up, but he had searched amongst the tombstones three times in the last couple of hours.

He rotated the camera until it rested upon the disturbed ground above the latest addition.

He was supposed to accept Dick's death, but he couldn't. It was everything he could do not to run out there and dig the boy up with his bare hands. The gravestone was streaked in the poor lighting of the one lone light that Alfred had placed there a few days ago, when it became apparent that Bruce planned to stand there throughout the night. It was a temporary solution, but Bruce thought he might as well look into a more permanent addition. He predicted many a nights spent there in his future yet.

Bruce stood up and stretched his back. The pain returned immediately, as soon as he allowed his mind to turn from the information he was studying. It was worse even than the pain he remembered experiencing after of losing his parents. And he knew why . . .

Dick had asked him to wait.

He thought back four, almost five, days ago now. The Team had come to the Watchtower to pay their last respects. They had come with their mentors. Even Superman had climbed out of his hole to accompany Conner, although he had stood near Bruce while the teen had stood with Wally beside the closed casket.

After M'gann, Kaldur, and Artemis had turned to leave, Conner had abruptly lifted the lid. Flash had protested. Dick had been laid to rest, not in his Robin's uniform, but a suit that Alfred had picked out for him. The boy was not wearing his mask, but it didn't matter as Dick's face was still mostly obscured with the gauze and wrappings that covered the destruction he had absorbed, Bruce had learned earlier, from Kaldur.

The two teens had angrily insisted on saying goodbye face to face with their friend. They had already seen the worst of his wounds before the Justice League had arrived at the room they had been thrown into. Flash and Superman had turned away respectfully, but Batman had watched with approval as each of the two youths had slipped a single item into the casket before closing the lid.

Much later, after everyone had left and the Batman alone stood vigil, he had shifted from his spot to wander over to the mahogany box that held his son. He lifted the lid and stared; searching once more for any indication that the boy's healing ability had kicked in. But, other than the fact that Dick's body had yet to begin decomposing, there was nothing.

But there was still no decomposing . . . This was his argument against burying his boy. This was the reason Bruce refused to accept this as his final death. But Clark had threatened once already to take Dick's body away, and bury it in a hidden location until Bruce was able to accept that he was gone. He couldn't allow that to happen.

So, he had stopped fighting them . . . But he never accepted; never believed his son was truly gone.

He searched out the items Robin's friends had left him; a small penlight and a screwdriver. His lips quirked up on one side infinitesimally. Robin had found good friends in those two. Batman approved of their parting gifts and tucked them gently back into their hiding places. Being on the Watchtower, Bruce was still dressed as Batman. He slipped his hand into his belt and removed his rebreather, just in case, and tucked it into Dick's pocket.

He shoved back his cowl and leaned over his child's body and pressed kiss to the top of his head; above the gauze wrappings. He then wiped his eyes, and did the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. He closed the lid.

* * *

Eureka!

Dick nearly cried as he looked at his prize; a rebreather lay in his palm. This could have only come from Bruce. Bruce hadn't given up on him after all!

But why had he been buried then? It made no sense.

He didn't have the air to ponder it here, however. Better to wait until he was out of here first and had all the oxygen he needed. When he was free of his grave, he could ask Bruce himself.

He popped the precious piece of equipment into his mouth and almost immediately his mind began to clear and the sluggishness of his thoughts disappeared. He returned to his task of loosening the screws that were all that stood between him and freedom. The dirt above him, he didn't worry about. He could dig his way out, but only after he escaped his satin and wooden prison.

He smiled, but didn't pause to celebrate when he twisted the first screw out and tossed it behind him. He still had three more to go.

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**


	24. Pt 23 - Out of the Dark

**WARNING: STRONG Language . . .**

* * *

He was filthy; covered in dirt and blood as he clawed his way up. Half of his casket was now filled with dirt. Dick shoved more of the clumps of dirt and rocks below him, dug his toes in, and pushed himself upward another couple of inches. He had abandoned his shoes, his tie, and his confining jacket at the start of his climb. He paused and glance down at the headway he had made. Actually, he could no longer see the open end of the casket for all the dirt that now covered it.

As best he could determine, he was a little better than halfway. He could hear a booming noise above him and feel the vibrations through the ground. It took him a while, but eventually Dick recognized the sound of thunder. It would just figure that he would dig himself out of the grave on a dark and stormy night. He snorted at becoming a cliché, and promptly inhaled a nose full of dirt. He sneezed and coughed, and spewed his rebreather out in the process. It clattered a bit as it fell past his feet.

"Damn it," he yelped. His voice was hoarse from disuse, but Dick didn't see the point in talking only to himself and the occasional earthworm.

He was glad Alfred wasn't around to hear his language. Dick wasn't entirely sure being dead and buried would be enough to get him out of having his mouth washed out with soap. Although he was so dirty, a little soap wouldn't go amiss right now, he thought wryly.

He was close to the surface now. The likelihood that he would need the rebreather again was slim to none. Grabbing another clump of dirt, Dick pried it loose and, as it fell, a torrent of mud and rainwater poured over his head. Dick ducked his head and coughed; spitting out a mouthful of mud.

To his dismay the mud began to fill the space beneath his feet at an alarming rate. Surely, he hadn't escaped his casket only to be drowned in mud a mere two feet from the surface? No, there wasn't enough dirt above him to fill in the space he had cleared for himself. Mud covered his feet, and his toes squished in the giving surface. At least he hoped not.

Anxious, Dick began to dig faster; ignoring the tears to his nails and fingertips. It hurt, but not as much as he had during the first couple of minutes of waking this last time. Remembering that agony put the pain of shredded fingers back into the proper perspective.

The mud sucked at his feet and the sides of his tunnel were becoming mushy. He had to use his knees more to brace against the sides to prevent his slipping back down.

Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up became a mantra inside his head.

If the tunnel collapsed around him, Dick would indeed be in danger of being once more buried alive, but this time without air to sustain him. The danger of drowning in mud was growing exponentially as more water seeped through the ground above him at an increasingly rapid rate. He slipped several inches as the soggy dirt his toes had been planted in gave way.

More mud rained down on him. This time, when he tore at the dirt above him, a clump of grass brushed his face as it fell past.

Grass?

He was close now.

Thunder crashed overhead and Dick flinched at the angry sound, but he didn't stop digging. His shirt was drenched and torn. Dick flicked off his light, pushing back his newly-acquired fear of the dark, and shoved it back into his pocket. He needed both hands now as he frantically clawed his way to freedom.

* * *

Bruce came through the clock entrance into his study. He spared a glance out of the window at the fury of the storm brought in from the Atlantic. He moved swiftly to the hallway and on towards the kitchen.

Alfred sat at the table, cleaning the silver. He glanced up from his task as Bruce burst into the room.

"Where do you think you are going?"

Bruce didn't answer him, but continued on to the mudroom beyond the kitchen's pantry. Alfred leapt to his feet to follow. Bruce opened the door and stared at the storm; ignoring the rain that drenched him as the wind lashed furiously at the house.

"Master Bruce," Alfred called his warning. "I do not want to have to ask Master Kent for his assistance again."

"You do and he'll be taking you with him when he leaves," Bruce threatened, although there was no real malice behind it.

He sat on the bench to change his shoes.

"Certainly you aren't thinking of going out in that?" Alfred looked appalled.

Bruce paused and looked up at the man who had raised him. "I told him I would wait for him."

Alfred's jaw worked; testifying to the elder man's own turmoil. "I don't think Master Dick would begrudge you waiting for him inside rather than out in the middle of this deluge."

Bruce shoved his foot into the boot and stood up. He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a scrap of black material. He held it out between them.

"Robin's costume also gained the ability to renew itself," he told Alfred. "I've been carrying and watching Dick's mask ever since the League forced me to close the lid on that goddamned casket! I had wanted to pull him out of that damned hole and put him, if not in his room, then in the medical bay in the cave and wait for him there. I thought after three days, Alfred, that people would leave me alone long enough to manage this, but Clark had to step in again where he wasn't wanted!"

"It's been _eleven_ days now, sir! Surely, if the boy could have managed to heal from this, he would have done so before now!"

Bruce watched a lone tear slide down the elder man's face.

"Who are we to say how long it takes to heal from the fatal injuries of four separate people? Four of them were dead, and Dick brought them back . . . If he could bring back _four people_ from death's grip, then why not himself?" Bruce shook the mask for emphasis.

"I _have_ to be ready, Alfred! I have to _be there_ when he wakes up! I can't let him wake up while he's still buried."

" _If_ he wakes up," the butler insisted.

"Dick believed he could. I have to have faith in that." Bruce told him.

"For how long," Alfred asked.

"However fucking long it takes," Bruce yelled at him as his own tears slipped free.

* * *

Alfred shook his head sadly as his hand dipped into his pocket for his cell phone. He didn't want Master Kent to have to take the boy's body away, but the man was beginning to fear for the master's sanity. This obsession he had . . . This . . . This . . .

He lost his train of thought as he stared at the cloth in Master Bruce's hand. Alfred blinked as he studied the swath of material. If this was the same mask that Master Robin had been wearing when he took on his teammate's injuries, Alfred remembered that the mask on one side had been a torn and tattered mess. But the mask that he was looking at at that moment was whole . . . _Whole and perfect_!

 _Dear Lord_ . . .

"The mask," Alfred gasped. His cell phone fell from his fingers to clatter onto the wooden floor.

"The mask?" Bruce gaped at him, and then held up the damaged material . . .

Except it wasn't damaged!

"Is-is that the same mask," Alfred breathed; terrified to allow his hopes to rise again.

"Dear God! Dick," Bruce cried out. He paused only to grab a flashlight. "Alfred, get me a shovel from the shed," he ordered as he ran out into the storm.

"Two shovels," the butler corrected as he grabbed up his own flashlight. He didn't bother with galoshes or raingear as he ran in the direction of the gardening shed.

 _Their boy was_ _ **alive?!**_

* * *

Bruce ran flat out in the direction of the cemetery. The light bobbed wildly over the landscape, but Bruce had made this trek so many times over the course of his life . . . hell, in just the last few days alone, several times a day, that he didn't need the light to guide him.

It would take Alfred time to get there with the shovels, but Bruce would use his hands if he had to. His mind swung as back and forth as wildly as the beam of his flashlight; first in elation that Dick was back, and second in horror and guilt that he must have awoken by now inside of the casket. He took dubious comfort in the memory of the three gifts that he, Wallace, and Conner had each left for Dick. He only prayed that the boy didn't panic at his plight and not even discover them.

He slipped in the grass and dropped the flashlight. It rolled down the gentle sloping ridge off to the right of the path. Bruce didn't bother retrieving it. He scrambled back to his feet and continued on.

He was almost halfway there when a streak of sheet lightning lit up the night and in the flash Bruce caught sight of a soaked and muddy figure stumbling from the direction of the cemetery. If he believed in ghosts . . .

The slight figure halted at the sight of him.

Another bolt of lightning confirmed what he saw.

" ** _Dick_**!" The thunder drowned out his cry.

Bruce ran to where the boy stood trembling, and he dropped to his knees; actually skidding the last couple of feet on the wet grass to his son's side. Bruce grabbed Dick and yanked him hard into his arms.

"Dick! Thank God! _Thank God_!"

The rain washed his tears from his face, but his trembling betrayed him. Dick threw his arms around his father's shoulders and buried his face into the man's neck.

"Y-You didn't wait," came the sobbing exclamation.

"I tried to, son," Bruce clung to the boy, as if afraid something might come along and yank his child away from him. "I wanted to. I'm sorry, Dick! I'm so sorry!"

The storm raged on around them, but the two didn't care. That heaven had opened up and gifted Bruce with the return of his son was all that mattered to him. If he had come in the midst of a hurricane, Bruce would have been as equally grateful. The presentation and wrapping didn't matter to him; not at all.

"But you're back!" Bruce held Dick to him with one arm as he stroked his child's wet, muddy hair. "You're _back,_ and I'm never letting you out of my sight again!"

* * *

Dick smiled through his tears.

Bruce continued making promises that Dick wasn't sure he would have made had this been any other situation, and he knew Bruce would certainly never be able to keep half of them, but Dick accepted them all eagerly. He didn't know where Bruce had been before Dick had awoke in his casket, but the man had been coming to get him and that had to count for something.

Bruce always came to get him and for that Dick would always be grateful.

How long they kneeled there, he didn't know, but a startled cry caught their attention and they broke apart just enough to glance around.

Alfred stood there, gaping, Dick could see in the flare of another lightning bolt. The butler dropped the shovels he had been holding, and stumbled over to them and gathered both his charges in his arms.

The elder man was, for once, at a loss for words.

Several long minutes passed, although exactly how many Dick had no idea, before Alfred began tutting and drawing them both to their feet.

"Mayhaps you have no longer anything to worry about, young sir, but Master Bruce and I will surely catch pneumonia if we stay out here any longer. Let's get you back to the manor where you belong, and we'll warm you up with some hot cocoa; what say you?"

Dick nodded vigorously. "Sounds really good, Alfred," he said, shivering. He might heal up nicely, but he could still feel the misery of the cold. How much more would Bruce and Alfred?

"Let's go home, _please_!"

"That sounds like a plan to me, chum." Bruce murmured in his ear.

Dick released Bruce in preparation for the walk back, and so was startled when Bruce picked him up much as he had done when Dick had been a child of eight. After a moment, when he was certain that Bruce had no intention of letting him go, Dick relaxed and went with it; resting his head on his adopted father's shoulder.

"I don't know about you, but I, for one, am extremely grateful not to have witnessed the young master rising out of the ground like one of those creatures from one of those late night horror films the boy is so fond of watching." Alfred shuddered, as he paused to pick up the shovels he had dropped.

Dick hadn't considered his frightening ordeal in that manner before. Alfred made it sound, well, kind of . . . cool. He grinned suddenly. Just wait until Wally heard about all about it!

Even without his struggle, the healing itself had been exhausting. And so, despite the storm, the flashing lightning, and booming thunder, Dick fell asleep; feeling safe for the first time in what felt like forever. No nightmares would dare to haunt him while in his father's arms.

The monsters in the dark, all his fears and worries; they all paled into insignificance in the presence of the Batman after all.

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **I had originally planned for Dick to claw his way out of the ground in front of a gaping Bruce, like a zombie. I still miss the creepiness, but I am enjoying the fluff. I hope you are, too! Besides, I could never have gotten Bruce to scream like a little girl** **, so this worked out better in the end.**


	25. Pt 24 - STORY UPDATE

No, my friends, this is **_not_** over!

* * *

This will be a great place to tell all of you that don't read my profile page regularly (yes, I announce new chapters and sometimes changes that I have planned like this so that I don't leave you hanging.) I don't like wasting a chapter for news, but this will be the best way to do this.

 **I HAVE A NEW PLOT FOR THE END OF THIS STORY THAT WILL BE SHOCKING AND FRANKLY ASTOUNDING! AN OMG MOMENT! AND THEN . . .**

 **THERE WILL BE THREE** ( **3** ) **ENDINGS TO THIS STORY!** **ALL OF THEM POSTED SIMULTANEOUSLY WITH APPROPRIATE WARNINGS LISTED! ALL WILL BE EPIC!**

This story doesn't lend itself to a truly happy ending easily. That said, I have struggled with writing an ending that could be considered happy.

The **FIRST ending will be "happy"** , but yes, you'll probably still need a couple of tissues. Okay, more like **"happy- _ish_ "** . . . Sigh - Well, no one dies here anyway! That's kind of happy - right? Right?

The **SECOND ending will be kind of "happy - _ish"_ (no death) as well**. I managed to save it from being utterly tragic, but it might be good to invest in Kleenex or Puffs tissues so you can at least make a bundle while you are sobbing in places.

The **THIRD ending will be truly and horrifically tragic (this WILL contain A MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!** – See, I will not be subtle in my warning). It will be totally your choice whether or not to read it. **YOU WILL PROBABLY CRY – A LOT!** Make certain you have tons of tissues and bottled water so you will not dehydrate yourself. But if you read it, do not be mad at me . . . YOUR CHOICE, remember? I'll admit it now that, despite the death, this is my favorite ending.

* * *

Please review any and/or all endings . . . If you can't handle the third ending, don't read it. If you can remember that these aren't real people and not canon, just a bit of fan fiction, and everyone will be alive and okay in the next story, Please do read it!

Keep in mind, I was just as emotional writing them as you will be reading them. I am very anxious to hear from you. Even if you don't normally review, tell me which you ended with and how you liked it. If you've been brave enough to read all three, tell me which is your favorite ending!

 **WHICH IS YOUR FAVORITE ENDING?!** **But only if you can take it . . . I WILL PROVIDE WARNINGS AT THE TOP OF EACH ENDING!**

* * *

So, transition chapters next. **THIS STORY IS NOT FINISHED YET!** **And for heaven's sake – IF YOU LIKE IT, THEN FAVE IT! ;D**


	26. Pt 25 - Tribute - Pt 1

**Apologies for taking so long to return. Work and some new health issues had gotten in the way. I tried to write, but other than a few brief scenes that are sporadic throughout the timelines of all three stories that have yet to be complete, I haven't gotten much done until today. This and the next chapter are transition chapters and the new plot will be emerging after that.**

 **Warnings: Some graphic descriptions . . .**

* * *

"Do you think that this will work, Dinah?" Ollie sat slumped back in his chair. He looked like he had no energy; as if he were suffering from battle fatigue.

But then grief could do that to a person.

Dinah glanced around the room at the other milling heroes and sighed. They all looked like they had just fought for the survival of the planet and lost. It was hard to conceive that the loss of just one boy would cause this kind of reaction.

And if it could affect the Justice League like this, how much worse must it be for the kids? The answer to that was a lot. The members of the Young Justice Team had lost all vestiges of joy. They wallowed in their guilt. They either wanted to stay at the mountain all the time with their teammates or else they didn't want to show up at all.

Lately, other than Conner and M'gann, no one was there. And even those two couldn't seem to remain in the same room together for any length of time. They each blamed themselves for the disaster that that last mission had turned out to be. In fact, every single one of them suffered from survivor's guilt.

Robin had been their youngest member, and they had failed to protect him. But Robin had also been their most experienced member as far as crime fighting went, and he still fell. The effects of what Kid Flash called the MoD had apparently allowed him to recover from his wounds enough to attempt a group healing, but when every member of the group is dead, how did one recover from that?

Amazingly enough, the group did . . . But Robin . . . It had been too much for him to manage. The young boy, only freshly recovered from his own fatal wounds, voluntarily absorbed the terrible damage that four of his teammates had borne onto himself and . . . died.

They had waited seven days for evidence that he was healing, but had found nothing. Kid Flash and Superboy had argued that they were giving up too soon, echoing the arguments of Batman. It had been with a heavy heart that Dinah had convinced the others to let the boy go and to begin the grieving process.

Now, fifteen days after that dreadful mission, she hoped that the League had found a way to help the Team to cope with their grief and move on. She adjusted the circular device in the center of the table.

"We can only hope, Ollie," she finally answered him.

Straightening, she turned to address the mentors and League members present. Time to assuage their curiosity as to why she had called them together.

"As you know, the Young Justice Team is in danger of disbanding after the devastating loss of one of their members. I am hoping that this will help them to cope with their grief and guilt and move on; after all, if anyone would want them to continue and succeed, it would have been Robin. And it is only fitting that we find a way to honor the young hero's work and dedication as well as the supreme sacrifice he made on behalf of his friends."

The League looked solemn as Dinah leaned forward and flicked a hidden switch on the device. Light shot upward and flickered a moment, and then there he was. A perfect hologram of Robin, the Boy Wonder.

A collective gasp greeted the tribute followed by a long moment of silence as the Justice League honored the life of one of their own. The Boy Wonder hadn't been officially a member, but he had been fighting crime alongside Batman almost as long as any of them. Truly, the least experienced among them had only one year on Robin's own four years as a crimefighter.

If only she could have talked Bruce into coming. It was only fitting for Batman to have been present for this, but Bruce was still angry at them. He said, they could keep their tribute when she had spoken to him about it. He had told her that he preferred the original to any pale replica they could devise. Obviously the man had not accepted his son's death yet.

She worried about him; about what he might become with the loss of the light that the child had brought to his life. That Bruce would allow the darkness within him; that made up the Batman, to consume him this time.

They still had to bring it to the mountain and present it to the Team. Perhaps she could try again. What Batman wasn't willing to do for the League, he might be willing to do for the Team. A small sad smile appeared on her face as the hologram slowly spun in place. For all that Batman scared the bejesus out of criminals and colleagues alike; there was no denying the man had a soft spot for children.

Although the Team were hardly children. They were young, hovering on the cusp of adulthood. More importantly, they had been more than Robin's teammates; they had been his friends.

Yes, she would try again.

* * *

Batman flicked off the video link.

"You should have told her."

He turned around to see Dick standing behind him. He smiled, despite himself, and was amused by his son's reaction to the oddity of seeing the unusual expression on his face while wearing the cowl. He couldn't help it, however, at least in the privacy of the Batcave. His son was alive and every time he looked on the boy his lips seemed to pull upward almost involuntarily as a result.

"We'll let Black Canary know when we tell the rest of them," he told Dick.

"And when will that be," Dick demanded. "This is cruel; keeping my return a secret!"

"How much more cruel than to show up with remnants of your wounds still present? Wounds that you absorbed from _them_ ," Batman asked.

"They are gone now," Dick reminded him. And they were, but they had taken nearly four more days to finally disappear altogether. "You've been punishing them; the League, but in doing so, you've been punishing the Team as well."

Dick had not awoken perfectly healed. The damage to his face had been most evident. Although mostly healed, there had still been disfiguring bumps and hollows that had slowly smoothed out over the course of the past few days as bone and muscle had continued to reform and knit back together. The scars from the bullet wounds had disappeared without a trace two days ago, but the boy's eyesight from his newly-regrown eye had only just returned yesterday.

It had been disturbing to see. Once he and Alfred had gotten Dick back to the manor and into the bright light of the kitchen, they had been shocked by the sight. Dick had torn the gauze away while still buried. He hadn't noticed the variations in his own face at the time, probably because of the shock of where he had found himself upon waking, but he had been horrified the first time he had caught a glimpse of himself in a reflective surface.

Thankfully, the improvements were noticeable after an hour. Assured that he wouldn't be deformed for the rest of his life, Dick had shoved his disfigurement to the back of his mind and gone on; ever resilient. The boy's ability to bounce back and accept what he couldn't change was something Bruce would forever admire.

They had run tests on him immediately and all the evidence Batman had been searching for during the past eleven days was suddenly present. Dick was continuing to heal. His reflexes had returned to normal a day later, at the same time as the bullet wounds faded away and his limping gait disappeared. He had taken the patch off yesterday to reveal a perfect eye with his eyesight completely restored.

Today, at breakfast, Bruce had watched as the last few areas on Dick's face had visibly smoothed out; his cheekbone, an area above his eyebrow, and that place where his ear and jawbone met. To look at him now, no one would have ever guessed that the boy had ever had a blemish, let alone had half of his face ripped from him. But his body hadn't been the only thing that required 'healing'. The trauma of healing four mangled bodies and then himself returned every night in the boy's dreams, as did the newfound terror of the dark. That last bit of suffering had been completely unnecessary, and wasn't something that Bruce was prepared to forgive any time soon, and Batman not at all.

The amount of abuse Dick could take now was astounding . . . Miraculous, even. But it was something that Bruce would never be comfortable with, especially after this last scare. He continued to insist upon perfection during the day's training period. Okay, Robin could heal practically everything, but how much better would it be if the boy avoided obtaining those injuries in the first place?

* * *

"You should go change. They are gathering everyone together at the mountain to present a tribute to you. I'd think you would want to look your best for it," Batman quipped.

The fact that Batman quipped was enough to make Dick look back over his shoulder at him, but the information just laid on him startled him more.

"A what?"

"They are setting up a memorial to you today," Batman told him.

The man's voice was way too light to be emanating from beneath the cowl. He was amused.

"Should you be enjoying this so much," Dick asked.

The odd quirk of Batman's lips flattened out as any sign of amusement fled as if it had never been. The change of expression was so quick and thorough that Dick had to suppress a shiver.

"These people forced me to bury you," he growled Batman's signature warning growl. "They threatened to take your body away and bury it elsewhere if I didn't accept your death. If I punished them by withholding news of your return, it wasn't close to what they deserved. Be thankful I am choosing to be amused by their future shock rather than demanding payment for the emotional trauma you suffered upon waking buried alive in your own coffin!"

 _Dick's_ emotional trauma . . . No mention of his own, but Dick remembered very well the emotional, blubbering, trembling mess Bruce had been when they had found each other between the cemetery and the manor the night Dick had dug himself out of the grave. That mess had disappeared the moment they had stepped over the threshold into the kitchen, but Dick had seen plenty of glimpses of barely contained emotions that continued to flash across Bruce's face over the last few days. And honestly, he had never had so many hugs and touches in the entirety of his time with Bruce as he had gotten over the course of the last four days. There had been more in the beginning, those glimpses and hugs, but they had gradually tapered off until today, when other than the occasional odd smile, the man was back to his usual stoic self.

Dick turned and ran to get changed. He was excited to see his friends again, but he wouldn't want to be in the shoes of any of their mentors today. He didn't need a crystal ball to tell him that the day was going to be as angry as it was happy. For all that Batman said he was choosing to be amused; the man still seethed inside against what he considered an unforgivable breach of trust.

As Dick picked up his mask and looked in the mirror, he wondered if Robin would need to intervene.

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**


	27. Pt 26 - Tribute - Pt 2

**Okay, Tribute will be at least 3 parts . . .**

 **WARNING: STRONG Language . . .**

* * *

Wally stood in the middle of his teammates. The Justice League spread out behind them and completed the circle. Black Canary and Red Tornado flanked the Team in the middle. He was aware that several of the League, their mentors, had been speaking, but Wally hadn't heard a word. How could he when Rob's memorial was displayed before them all; spinning gracefully in a slow circle.

It had occurred to them that the one person who should be here was not. Batman had refused to come. Black Canary had tried to ease the rejection by making it sound as if he wanted to be here with them, but was detained by some amorphous 'thing', project, or person, but they all knew the truth. If Batman had wanted to be here for this . . . this _tribute_ , he would have been. Honestly, Wally couldn't blame the man.

Everyone had given up on Robin ever healing from the fatal wounds he had absorbed from four of their number that had included Wally himself. Of the team, only he and Conner still held out hope that Rob could somehow make a comeback. And if Batman continued to believe it was possible, then so would they.

Black Canary had claimed that Batman was in denial, but Batman was the most logical and grounded of any of them. If there was truly no hope, Wally was certain that Batman would be the first to acknowledge it. That he didn't; that he refused to accept Robin's permanent death, despite what everyone else was saying . . . Well, Wally would stand with him.

But Kaldur and his Uncle Barry had shamed him into showing up for this. Conner had merely followed Wally's lead; giving in to the pressure only because Wally had. Artemis squeezed his hand in support. Grateful, he squeezed back.

Standing here, however, listening to people speak of Robin in the past tense and seeing the larger-than-life image of his best friend . . . It made it difficult to believe that it would be alright this time; that the mountain would once more be filled with the sound of Robin's laughter. So, when a familiar cackle filled the hall, Wally cringed.

Had Canary found a recording with Rob's laugh on it? It seemed a tactless thing to do for a dedication of a memorial to a fallen comrade; although Robin himself might have approved. But even Wally wouldn't have sunk that low . . .

That everyone glanced around uneasy and confused made sense considering the zeta-tube hadn't announced anyone. But Batman had designed the security protocols. If he wanted to arrive unannounced, that's the way it happened.

"Come on," an unexpectedly familiar voice declared. "I was never _that_ skinny!"

Wally jerked around, searching . . . He could sense the same reaction from his teammates. The collective gasp sounded almost simultaneously. If he hadn't been in shock, Wally might have laughed. As it was, he found himself joining in the chorus as he gaped along with the rest of them.

"Rob?"

The grin followed a millisecond later.

" ** _Rob_**!"

Wally had been standing on the opposite side of the room when he yelled that and had zipped to the other side before the echo sounded. Part of him held his breath until he felt the warm, solid weight in his arms.

One minute Robin stood beside Batman on the zeta platform, the next, Wally was setting him down amidst his friends. His signature cackle took a second to reach them; sounding odd coming from across the room while the originator stood on the other side.

"Robin! How? When?" Artemis demanded immediately, even as she threw her arms around her younger teammate the second Wally had released him.

"Robin!" His name was chanted in awe by all who were present. "You're alive," was echoing around him like surround sound.

"You did it," Kaldur exclaimed, holding out his hand. When Robin took it, Kaldur jerked the smaller boy into a rib-straining embrace. "Welcome back, my friend! You were sorely missed."

"It feels like it," Robin squeaked good-naturedly under his friend's overenthusiastic onslaught.

M'gann swept the boy into another hug as soon as he was released. "Robin, we were so worried!"

"Speak for yourself, M'gann," Conner said. The wide smile looked odd on the clone's face; the unusual expression was welcome after two weeks of nothing but scowls, however. "I knew he could do it. Neither Wally nor I ever doubted you for a minute," he told the boy. "But you took long enough."

Robin turned to face Conner upon hearing the gentle scold, and he glanced over at where Wally stood nearby waiting his turn to greet his friend yet again.

"Thanks," he said, soberly. An unreadable expression flickered across his face. "I mean it. _Thank you_. Your parting gifts came in . . . um, handy."

The goofy grin slid off of Wally's face as he realized the implications of that remark.

"Oh my God! Rob! _Seriously_?" Wally gaped, horrified.

Suddenly the younger boy's face morphed back into one of delight. "Just like a freaking _zombie_! Dude, you should have seen me! Although you might not have recognized me at the time . . . It had been storming and I was covered in mud!"

After a moment, Wally's horror evaporated in light of this new information. He couldn't imagine how terrifying it must have been to wake up buried alive, but the awesomeness of crawling out of the grave like a zombie from a classic horror flick quickly replaced it.

"Ah, man! How cool was that?"

Again, there was a dark flicker in the younger boy's expression; gone so quickly that even Kid Flash wasn't positive he had seen it.

"The coolest . . . Agent A insisted that had he seen it he would have had nightmares for a year!" Robin laughed. If it sounded a bit strained, Wally was too happy to notice.

Hands slapped the boy on the back and the shoulders, as more well-wishers joined the party with grateful relief. What had started as a memorial service was promising to turn into a celebration of epic proportions.

* * *

Batman gritted his teeth and clenched his fists in an effort to retain control of his temper. He wasn't upset at the joyful teens. That was the only thing that was helping him keep a grip on his more violent emotions. But it was everything he could do to not lash out at the adults littering the place.

He moved to leave the room. He didn't want to spoil Robin's reunion with his teammates, but he couldn't listen to the very people who had given up on Robin now greet him as if they hadn't insisted on burying him a week ago. Maybe they were thrilled to see him back, but Batman couldn't move past his memories of them physically removing him from the medical bay as they interred his son's helpless body into a coffin prematurely.

Hell, Arrow and Lantern still bore the bruises they had received at the end of his fists from that particular disagreement.

Unwillingly, Batman's gaze touched on the Man of Steel and slid away. His anger at the Boy Scout's culpability, however, was hundreds of times greater than what he felt towards the rest of the League. Although Batman had never openly admitted to being the alien's friend, he knew that amongst all of them, only Clark had actually managed to gain Batman's trust. In the hidden recesses of his heart, Clark had been Bruce's friend.

Until that moment when Superman had physically removed Batman from the medical bay and allowed the other Leaguers to place his son's body in a box . . . Clark had foolishly placed an inordinate amount of faith into his fellow Leaguers' advise. How many times had Batman warned him about that?

And then he had physically restrained Bruce when he had protested filling in the grave. The final straw, however, came when Superman had knocked him unconscious on the day of Dick's resurrection and prevented Bruce from digging the boy up as he had hoped to do. Had he been allowed to follow through, Dick would have never awoken trapped in a coffin. Bruce still blamed himself on not digging up the grave earlier, or better yet, taken Dick's body during his vigil the night before the funeral, but when all was said and done, he knew that it wouldn't have mattered. Clark would have shown up to stop him.

Clark's threat that day that simmered still within Batman's veins at a temperature just below boiling.

He had threatened to steal Dick's body away and hide it until Bruce had accepted the boy's death . . . Bruce had looked into his friend's stupid, well-meaning face and seen the sincerity behind it. He shuddered involuntarily at the thought of Dick having to dig his way free only to discover he was lost; thrown away in some forgotten land. Or worse, the idea that Superman would have buried him in the ice near his Fortress of Solitude where there would have been no escape possible; forcing his son to experience his death by suffocation in the dark, enclosed space repeatedly until the boy succumbed to madness. Or someplace unreachable and just as horrific, like on the moon . . .

He couldn't be here with them. But Batman couldn't bring himself to leave Robin behind . . . Not yet.

Despite being surrounded by a dozen heroes, he no longer trusted any of them with his son's safety. His head told him that they had meant well, but his heart remembered Dick's screams that had been brought on by nightmares of being buried alive; of listening to his child's ragged breathing and feeling the pounding fear in the rapid fire tempo of the boy's heartbeat as he held him after Dick had awoken to the darkness.

Thirteen years old, after fighting the worst scum society had to offer, and the boy was now terrified of the dark.

Dick had yet to be confined in an enclosed space in either of his persona, but Batman knew that such an event would likely cause a similar reaction. Even time in the Batcave . . . and even _here_ at the mountain surrounded by his friends, Batman could see the boy's discomfort at being underground. That both caves were enormous didn't seem to make a difference.

These were fears that had never plagued Dick until now. They were fears that he received at the hands of those present. Fears that would have never had been born had Clark not betrayed Bruce so thoroughly.

No, it was better if Batman would wait out Robin's little reunion in a different section of the mountain.

* * *

When Superman stepped into his path, the outcome had been inevitable. Conscious thought hadn't even entered the picture.

"My God, he's _alive_! How . . ."

The Man of Steel never got to finish asking his question.

Afterwards, Batman would have to admit that he didn't remember removing the sliver of kryptonite out of the special, lead-lined box contained in his utility belt, but there was no denying that the alien rock had found its way into his fist. Or that said fist had found its way into the Man of Steel's nose . . . repeatedly.

Several punches later, Batman glared down at Superman's stunned and bloodied face as he loomed over him.

"Move," Batman told him belatedly.

"Batman, wait . . ." Clark gasped at him.

"You lost the right to tell me what to do, Clark. Only _friends_ have that privilege," Batman hissed, aware that they were the center of attention, but ignoring it. He leaned down so that his next words wouldn't be overheard.

"If you _ever_ come between me and my son again, I will shove this kryptonite down your throat and _bury_ you with it. Let's see how you manage. Maybe then you'll have an idea of what Robin had been forced to endure when he awoke buried alive in a fucking _coffin_ , Clark! He had to dig himself out of his . . . _Own_. _Fucking_. _**Grave**_!"

"I didn't know . . ." Superman began lamely.

"But you should have! It was bad enough that you allowed him to be buried, but you prevented me saving him from . . . Rescuing him before . . ." Bruce was shaking in fury behind the cowl.

"Before . . . what?"

Batman hesitated. Clark no longer deserved to know the family secrets, but he wanted the man to realize the depths of his mistake, and to wallow in his guilt.

". . . He's afraid of the dark now. Did you know that? He wakes up screaming several times a night from nightmares of being buried alive!" Batman growled low. He could sense that people were now heading towards them, thinking to intervene. "Before, you ask? Before he was traumatized!"

"I-I'm sorry, Bruce," Clark whispered, reaching for his friend. "I'm so sorry. I should have believed you."

His friend was gone, however. Batman stepped back out of reach.

In a normal tone of voice, he remarked. "You aren't yet, but if you ever set foot in Gotham City again . . . If you even enter her airspace, you will be. I'll make sure of it."

"Batman?" Robin quietly interrupted.

"Remember your manners, Robin," Batman scolded softly. "This is a private conversation."

"Batman," he continued, ignoring the gentle warning. "Please put the kryptonite away. You're hurting him."

"He deserves a little hurt," Batman muttered, but he felt his son's questioning eyes on him. The boy didn't know the extent of his pseudo-uncle's sins.

"Well, you're hurting Conner, too," Robin carefully reminded him. "I doubt _he_ deserves it."

Green Lantern's grating voice carried through the cavernous room, harsh in comparison to the muted tones of the conversation that was being held. "Batman, what the hell are you doing? Put the kryptonite up! Now," The ultimatum in the guardian's tone was double-edged, however, and threatened the fragile calm in the center of Batman's hurricane.


	28. Pt 27 - Tribute - Pt 3

**Warning: None . . . Except for an angry Bird.**

* * *

Robin turned back to face the League that were quickly descending upon them. This was threatening to escalate into something potentially terrible. He held out his hands, wondering if anyone would see him and stop, or if they would all barrel ahead and guarantee a bloody free-for-all.

He saw Batman complying with his request, and knew without thinking that it was because he had asked him, rather than Green Lantern's threatening tone, that had Batman putting the green sliver back into its case.

"Stop! He's doing it," Robin told them. "Everything's okay, now."

It said a lot that the adult Leaguers trusted the thirteen year old enough to halt their progress while still several feet away, although Wonder Woman needed to hold onto Green Lantern's arm. Robin realized that it was up to him to reduce the tension in the room.

"Robin," Superman gained his attention. "Robin, I'm so sorry," he said sincerely.

Robin frowned at Clark.

"I don't understand. Why are _you_ sorry?" Robin had been under the impression that it was Batman's fault by lashing out.

"This was my fault."

He blinked. Had Uncle Clark just read his mind or something?

"Robin," Batman interrupted. "Go . . . Be with your friends."

Robin faced his mentor and asked. "Why is this his fault?" He looked back at Superman. "What's your fault?"

"Robin," Batman warned.

"I should have trusted Batman. I should have trusted _you_. It was _**I**_ who made him bury you." Clark told him.

Robin stared at him. " _What_?" Of all the admissions he could have imagined, this one he least expected. "B-But why?"

"You weren't _healing_ , Robin." The Man of Steel's voice came out almost a whine. He wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve, but remained seated on the floor. He rested his arms on his knees and hung his head. "It had been a week, and you hadn't progressed at all. It had been decided that healing so many of your teammates from something as devastating as death had been too much for you. We didn't believe you could recover from it."

Robin stepped around Batman and stood in front of Superman. Batman started to make a move to stop him, but seemed to change his mind; allowing the intimacy. He rested a hand on Robin's shoulder instead. Clark spoke low. Only Batman was close enough to hear the conversation; and Conner, he remembered. But Bruce had told Clark that Conner and M'gann had already discovered his and Robin's identities.

"The Team wasn't handling it well, Dick" Clark told him.

Robin looked over his shoulder at the members of the Team. They stood back, but looked ready to jump in at any moment. The corner of his mouth quirked. They still had his back, even against the Justice League if need be. He turned back to Superman.

"We searched for signs that you were improving; we really did, but it was like you were caught in some kind of suspended animation. You weren't healing, but neither were you . . . you . . . decomposing. W-We thought . . ." Clark sighed heavily. "We thought that the machine had done something to your body's chemistry that prevented decomposition upon death. We truly believed that you were gone, but that your body would remain in its broken state forever."

Frowning, Robin's eyes automatically jumped to Batman, who was hovering over him; ready to step in at the least provocation. Superman continued.

"But not Batman; not Bruce. He refused to believe that you were gone. Bruce argued that the lack of decomposition was the clue that you weren't truly dead; at least not permanently. We, the League," he clarified; glancing up at Robin, "worried that he was in denial; that his love for you was preventing Bruce from seeing the truth."

Clark rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly. "The Young Justice Team was in danger of disbanding. They were, all of them, suffering from survivor's guilt, and seemed unable to move past it . . . Not while you were . . ." He swallowed. "Not while you were . . . as you were. We believed that the closure they would receive with your funeral would help them to begin the grieving process and move on. That Bruce would accept it, and begin to grieve."

Robin shifted, uncomfortable. "And did it? Help, that is," he asked quietly. He thought maybe, if it helped his friends, he might be able to forgive the feelings of disappointment and hurt that had flared up at Superman's confession.

Clark looked down, unable to meet his gaze. "No. If anything, it made it worse."

"Didn't _anybody_ have faith in me," Robin asked, growing upset now. Batman's hand tightened on his shoulder.

"Wally and Conner did. The others, I think, merely chose to believe what their mentors were telling them." Clark looked back up. "But Bruce . . . Dick, your father never wavered; not once. I had to drag him away in order for the others to prepare you for . . . I suppose I should count myself lucky he didn't pull out the kryptonite then."

"In the wake of the events, I had forgotten to transfer it to that particular belt," Batman's voice drifted over Robin's shoulder.

Superman flinched. It was almost imperceptible, but Robin had seen it.

"He refused attend the funeral," Clark said softly. "But was there to protest the burial. I stopped him a second time."

Robin looked up at his father. "Why didn't _you_ believe I was gone?"

"I knew how strong you are," Batman told him. "I knew if you could find a way back that you would. You weren't deteriorating, so it seemed logical to believe that something else was going on behind the scenes that we weren't aware of . . . Besides which, you . . ." he hesitated for a second. "You had asked me to wait for you."

So, Robin thought, relieved, Bruce _had_ waited for him. He _did_ have faith in him.

"Why didn't you tell me," Robin asked him.

"I didn't think I needed to," Batman replied softly.

 _Touché_. Robin nodded; a small smile playing around his lips.

"Bruce would have dug the casket up if I hadn't stopped him a third time," Clark confessed, bringing the boy's attention back to him. " _This_ time I threatened to take you away; to hide your body from him until he learned to accept your death. Even then I still had to knock him unconscious to be certain he wouldn't ignore my threat." Shame made Clark's gaze slide down to Robin's feet. "That was apparently when you woke up."

 _That_ was why Bruce hadn't been there and why Dick had still been buried six feet deep when his consciousness had returned to his body.

"Dick," Superman whispered, a single crystal tear slid down his face. "I cannot tell you how very sorry I am."

It explained a lot. He wished Bruce had told him, but then Bruce had always been reticent to talk about the painful stuff. Bruce's actions; Robin understood those. But the others?

As uncomfortable as it was to see Superman looking so defeated, Robin felt a surge of anger add itself to the already volatile mix of emotions swirling within him. He looked back at the League standing several feet away. Green Lantern was no longer being restrained, he noted. They were all watching silently, but alertly, just in case they needed to stop what they must believe was a rogue Batman from crossing the line and murdering Superman.

Batman wasn't the problem, however.

The trust Robin had in the League; the faith that they cared about him had been shattered. They had ignored Batman's requests and arguments; ignored Robin's own plea to give him time to heal, and done what they thought was convenient. If they had been acting in the Team's best interest, Robin wasn't ready to take that into consideration. Not yet, anyway.

He was just thirteen years old! The hurt he felt was beyond whelming. The sense of betrayal by those adults that he had trusted to always have his back; to always take his wellbeing into consideration swept over him. The League had thrown him away! Robin wasn't ready yet to be understanding; wasn't adult enough yet to see beyond his own pain. And right now he didn't want to. Later, maybe later he could reach beyond his own feelings and discover his forgiveness, but not now.

Tears stung his eyes. Memories of waking up alone and in the complete darkness of the grave welled up inside of him. The fear and panic that he had barely kept in check long enough to rescue himself flared again.

If only they had just listened to Batman! What would it have hurt to have just let him be for a little while longer? Why had everyone been in such a hurry to be rid of him? To bury him and forget him? Sure, the League had made him a memorial; a tribute to his supposed heroics, but it felt to Robin at that moment as more of a sop to ease their own consciences.

All he wanted to do right now was to find a quiet corner to indulge the urge to cry and scream and hit something.

"You need to go now."

The words were soft; not indicative of emotions that were running hot beneath the surface of his skin. Superman was back on his feet, and any signs that Batman had handed him his ass were gone, and it added to the anger boiling in his veins. Robin wanted to see physical signs that he regretted his choices, but Clark just stood there looking invulnerable and perfect and not as if he had done something wrong or hurtful.

"What?" Clark blinked. He had heard what Robin had said. Of course he had, but apparently he couldn't believe it.

"You need to leave," Robin repeated louder this time.

Their audience shifted uncomfortably at Robin's demand.

Good, he thought. They shouldn't be comfortable! He turned around to the shocked faces of the Justice League.

"You need to go," Robin yelled this time. " _ **GO**_! _Get out of here_!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Robin could see his Team step back in surprise, but he didn't care. Batman's hands were back on his shoulders, tugging gently to turn him away, but Robin shrugged off his hold to step forward.

"Robin," Black Canary spoke carefully. "You need to . . ."

"What? What do I need," he asked, snapping. "You have no idea what I need! And you gave up the right to tell me what to do when you _buried_ me! You'll never understand what . . . what I went through; what I had to do!"

That got a reaction out of them! Finally, he saw remorse set in; a glimmer of guilt.

Batman pulled Robin around. "Robin, stop. This isn't the way . . ."

"You just punched out Superman in front of everyone, and _you're_ going to tell me that _I'm_ in the wrong? Fine," he twisted out of Batman's grasp. "If they won't leave, then _**I**_ will."

"Robin!"

Batman attempted to call him back, but Robin wasn't having it. He steered his path back to the zeta-tubes near his teammates.

"Sorry, guys. I'll come back later . . ." he glared in the direction of the adults. "After the mountain has been fumigated."

* * *

"Rob, wait," Wally called out. "Where are you going?"

When Robin didn't answer, Wally sped over to his side; walking to the tubes next to him. Robin sighed.

"I don't know yet, Walls," he admitted. "I need to be alone for a while."

"Dude, you've already been alone for way too long," Wally told him. "Let me come with you."

"Wally, no . . . I need to . . ." Robin stammered. He glanced over at the concerned face of his best friend; one of the few that hadn't given up on him even when everyone else had. "I . . . All right," Robin finally said. "Okay,"

Whether his shoulders slumped in relief or resignation, Wally didn't know.

"Okay, you can go with me. Come on." Robin waved for him to follow.

Wally turned first only to wave at the gaping group of heroes behind them. Robin would be all right. Wally would look after him he wanted to tell them. He met Batman's gaze trepidatiously, but was surprised when he didn't meet up with the batglare. Instead, Batman nodded at him once. Was that supposed to be gratefulness? Out of the Bat?

Wally nodded back and then spun to catch up with Robin who was busy punching in coordinates. Seconds later they disappeared in a flash of light.

* * *

The cavernous room tended to amplify every sound, but silence reigned in the wake of Robin and Kid Flash's departure. Whatever anyone had hoped the day would bring, this had not been it. After a long moment, Aqualad cleared his throat.

"It would probably be best if the League went back to the Watchtower," he announced.

"And, when you go, take _that_ with you." Superboy indicated the hologram of Robin that still spun slowly in the center of the room; it being oblivious to the drama of the past several minutes. "We prefer the original version."

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **I think sometimes writers give Robin a bit too much credit when it comes to dealing with emotional fallout and forgiving people when they make a mistake. He's still just a boy, one who had just gone through an extremely traumatic experience, and these are some BIG emotions he's experiencing that even an adult might have trouble processing, let alone immediately.**

 **Wally's proving to be a good best friend. I would have loved to sent Conner with him also, but this seemed to be right. Conner wouldn't have pushed himself onto Robin when the boy wanted to be alone. He wouldn't have understood that despite his words, Robin might really want or need some company. Wally, however, would have.**


	29. Pt 28 - Best Buds

**Warning: Some Language . . .**

* * *

With the help of the zeta-tube and Kid Flash it took no time to get here. Robin would have stopped by the Batcave for the R-cycle had he been alone. His friend had made that unnecessary, though. Now, the two were perched atop a warehouse down by the pier.

"Why are we here, Rob" Wally asked him as the two of them settled down in the shadows to watch the men unloading cargo below.

"I felt the need to punch something," Robin admitted. "Batman had intel of an incoming shipment of illegal firearms."

"Why wouldn't Batman be here himself, then," Wally asked.

"Because I kind of changed the arrival date of the shipment," he said, sheepishly.

"What? Seriously? Why would you _do_ that? Batman's going to kill you for this," Wally gasped.

"Since when does that stop me?" Robin smirked. "But I did it because this was a combined effort of two gangs that have it in for Batman. Personally, I think it is a setup. Batman does, too. He said pretty well said as much, but that won't stop him from coming down here and being attacked."

"What's this supposed to do," Wally asked. "What's the difference between Batman walking into a trap and you doing it?"

Robin threw him a look of disbelief. "The difference is that I will walk away from it, and Batman might not!"

"I thought you were going to stop sacrificing yourself for others like this," Wally snapped angrily.

"Where did you get _that_ idea?" Robin gaped at him, amused.

"Oh, I don't know . . . Maybe because the last time you did this, you had to dig yourself out of the grave!"

"Sh," Robin reminded him. "You're going to give us away."

"Rob, what are you thinking?" Wally lamented. "I just got you back, dude, and already you're planning something crazy like this. Would you have come here by yourself, if I hadn't insisted on coming with you?"

Robin was silent for a minute as he watched the activity below them. Finally, he nodded; just once.

"If the shipment is real, someone has to stop it," he said.

"So, were you really angry back there or was that all an act so that you could come here?" Wally ignored the bustle on the docks to focus on his friend.

Robin sighed and moved into a more comfortable position. He looked at Wally. His friend meant the world to him. Ever loyal, Robin knew he could count on Wally having his back in whatever situation that they found themselves in. He also knew that that gave him the right to question Robin's actions whenever they were alone.

"He _made_ Batman bury me," Robin's voice cracked when he finally spoke. "I always thought of the League as family, you know?"

"Superman? Was _that_ what he was telling you?" Wally gaped. "I wondered why Batman allowed it when he was so adamantly opposed to it. Man," the redhead ran a hand over his head in commiseration. "That must have hurt like a sonofabitch."

Robin agreed. "Like a knife between the ribs . . . It wasn't just the one time, either. He stopped Batman two more times," he admitted. "The last time was the day I woke up. He prevented Br-Batman from digging me up. Basically, if Superman hadn't interfered, I would have woken up in the Batcave or maybe even in my own room."

"Instead you woke up in a casket," Wally finished for him. "You made it sound kind of cool when you played it off earlier, but then you went off on Black Canary and the League . . . I guess it wasn't as cool as you made it out to be?"

Robin didn't bother repressing a shudder. "You can't imagine . . ." he whispered, shutting his eye against the memory. But the darkness behind his lids only made the image more real. He opened his eyes. "It was . . ." he shook his head. "There's no word horrible enough to describe it."

"But you managed it," Wally reminded him. "You escaped."

Another shudder ran through him. "Yeah, because of you and Connor. I'd have died again down there without the flashlight and the screwdriver you guys left me." His voice cracked again and he hiccuped. Tears flooded his eyes behind the lenses.

"I would have died down there, and then revived only to die again, over and over and over . . . Until I lost my mind." Those last words were barely audible.

The real horror of his friend's experience dawned on Wally. "Oh my God! _Oh my God_! I-I didn't think . . . Connor and I; we didn't realize . . . But you're right! Oh my God! Oh shit! _Rob_!"

"Batman l-left me a rebreather," Robin managed to tell him. "He had t-tucked it into one of my pockets. Wally, even with the flashlight and the screwdriver, I wouldn't have been able to escape without the rebreather. I nearly passed out from lack of oxygen before locating it."

"God, Rob! How are you okay with this," Wally asked him, wiping an arm over his eyes. "How are you still sane? I would be a blubbering fool right now!" And he was, even though he wasn't the one who had been forced to dig himself out of his own grave.

"I-I'm not," Robin covered his face with his hands. "I'm so not, Wally. I can't sleep. I can barely eat . . . And I . . . I can't stand the dark. I can't stand to be alone . . . Not-not really alone."

"Oh man, Rob, _I'm so sorry_ ," Wally gasped. "I should have stopped them! Conner and I, _we_ should have stopped them! We could have done it, you know; especially with Batman's help." The depth of his own culpability in his best friend's most terrifying experience horrified him. "How can you _stand_ me? How can you . . ."

"Wally, stop," Robin grasped his friend's shoulders. "I talked to Superman. There wouldn't have been anything you could have done. If Batman couldn't have prevented it, neither could you."

"Robin . . ." Wally stared at his friend.

* * *

Tears had already soaked the material of Robin's mask enough that they now ran freely down his cheeks. When Wally pulled him into a hug, Robin clung to him; weeping into his shoulder.

"I hate them," Robin sobbed. "I-I hate them for that! I-I know I shouldn't . . . But I can't help it. They threw me away, Wally! They just gave up and-and threw me away . . ."

Wally tightened his hold on the younger boy. "Rob, I'm so sorry . . ."

He hadn't really thought about it beyond the nightmares. He tried not to . . . But how could they have buried him? The question had been lurking in the back of his mind; embedded in his subconscious, waiting for the moment when he was curious enough to pluck it out, dust it off, and look at it.

Only Bruce's relief and happiness that Dick was alive and well . . . Only that he had been running out to the cemetery to get him had kept the hidden anger at bay for so long. Superman's confession had absolved his adopted father of any lingering doubts and anger, but had left Superman and the entire Justice League as the target for those emotions that had suddenly leapt to the fore.

"Why didn't they wait for me," Robin cried. "Why were they in such a hurry to give up on me?"

 _They didn't love me enough_.

He had adopted the Justice League as his surrogate, extended family years ago; when Batman had first deigned to introduce the League to his new partner. Perhaps he should have realized it then. The League hadn't approved of Robin; had even tried to pressure Batman into firing him, but Robin had forced them to take him seriously. They had eventually accepted him, but apparently they never actually changed their minds about him.

Robin had opened his heart to Batman's colleagues like the foolish, naïve, little kid they had always believed him to be, but he realized now that the feelings were not mutual. He suspected now that they had accepted him more to stay in Batman's good graces than any respect they may have had for him.

Robin realized that his hurt and anger might be coloring his thoughts, but it didn't matter. If he were wallowing in his upset, he had earned the right to it. Forgiveness felt a lifetime away, if it were even possible at all. He could almost hear his mother's voice admonishing him for his hardheartedness, but he shoved it aside. He wasn't ready to hear it. He couldn't imagine it at that moment when his sense of betrayal was so strong, but maybe . . . one day he would listen and learn to forgive. But not now . . . Not for a while. Maybe not ever.

Wally was rocking him now; like he was a child. Robin should have protested, but he didn't have it in him. He allowed the indignation to continue; just a little while longer. He should have been embarrassed, but he could feel the dampness in his hair. Wally was crying right along with him . . . Ever the faithful friend. The thought made one side of his mouth quirk up into a crooked smile for a moment.

"Rob, I don't think they wanted to." But Wally's denial was weak. "The League had claimed it was for the benefit of the Team, but honestly, the Team would have preferred to wait longer. We didn't want to bury you," he promised. "We wanted you back!"

"Were you guys really having such a hard time," Robin asked when he finally felt a little more in control.

Wally sighed. "It was tough. We wanted to believe you were going to be fine, but when they finally came back and said that you were dead . . . And it was all because of us . . ."

"It wasn't because of you! It was because of me," Robin insisted, leaning back to look his friend in the face. Red-rimmed eyes greeted him. He had a feeling that they matched his own. "I couldn't have lived with myself if I hadn't tried! What good is this power if I cannot use it to save my friends?"

* * *

Wally didn't say anything.

What could he say? In the same position, he would have done the same thing. That didn't make it easier, however, when you watched your best bud suffering for your sake. Even if the suffering was temporary.

"Were you really planning on walking into this trap all by yourself," he asked, a little desperate to change the subject.

Rob gave him a watery smile and scrubbed at his eyes.

"You were," Wally accused. "So, how much of your storming off had to do with meeting this shipment?"

Robin shrugged. "Not much, truthfully. I had forgotten about it when all the drama was happening. Too many revelations. I only remembered it after we had walked through the zeta-tube and I was trying to decide where to go from there."

"So, you weren't planning on being stupid until then," Wally asked suspiciously.

"Oh, I planned on being stupid," Rob admitted, laughing. "I just planned on following the clues to wherever they were storing the shipment and taking them on there. Once we came through the zeta-tube, however, I realized that we had time to meet the shipment at the docks after all."

Wally slapped a hand to his forehead. "Were you always this foolhardy, or is this a more recent development?"

"Wally, I cannot die . . ." Robin reminded him. "Of course, I was more careful before when I could, but now I don't have to be."

"What good will it do you if you rush out and get yourself killed when it takes days to recover? The bad guys will still get away."

"Hey! I never said I gave up on strategy! Just caution," Rob quipped.

"Rob!"

"Easy, KF," Robin laughed. "I'm not going to just walk into a hail of bullets. And now I have you here with me, it should be a piece of cake! They aren't expecting a speedster."

At the reminder that they were there in uniform and apparently with a job to do, Kid Flash got serious.

"Okay," he finally agreed. "So, what's the plan?"

Robin looked down over the edge of the roof cautiously, assessing the situation with a pair of powerful, mini binoculars.

Kid Flash smirked. Strategy . . . right!

"Here it comes now," Robin said, gesturing to the crates being offloaded from the cargo ship a hundred yards further north of their position. He pointed to several areas. "I see several armed guards, but I'm assuming there are several more around, just not visible."

"Batman is going to kill you for this if these guys don't do it for him," KF reminded him.

"What? Are you wanting to back out now that we're here," Robin challenged.

"And let you have all the fun? No way!" Kid Flash shifted position. "Besides, someone has to be available to drag your dead ass home!"

Robin grinned at him. "You're assuming that these bozos will be able to hit me! I might be a modern-day Lazarus, but I have no intention of getting killed today!"

"Hey! Up there," came a shout from below, followed by several pings as the first few bullets struck the metal roof.

"Whoops! Jig's up! Come on," Kid Flash yelped.

The tension of earlier had faded away and only excitement and determination remained. Robin and Kid Flash seldom had the opportunity to work a mission together without the rest of the Team. Robin hopped on his back.

"Hey, KF," Robin spoke in his ear. "Thanks for coming with me."

"That's what best buds are for," he told him.

"Let's go," Rob yelled, even as Kid Flash took off to flank their foes.

The bad guys wouldn't know what hit them!

* * *

 **REACTIONS? Come on, I really want to know!**

 **Oh, and I'm thinking that transition chapters are now over and it is now time for the new plot to emerge . . .**


	30. Pt 29 - A League of His Own

**Sorry about the delay.**

 **Warnings: None**

* * *

"So, has Batman forgiven you yet?"

Robin glanced up as Wally plopped down on the couch beside him. The papers in his lap slid off onto the floor. Robin sighed as he uncrossed his legs in order to pick them up.

"What do you think," Robin snarked, and he gathered up the pages. "I have a test tomorrow in which I have to disarm three different types of bombs, then another on the periodic table, and today I have to write out the symptoms and antidotes of twenty different poisons . . . by hand."

"Dude," Wally smirked. "So, how far have you gotten?"

"I'm on number fourteen; Tubarine. It's toxicity level is 6," Robin said, reaching under the couch for a couple of errant papers.

Wally tilted his head. "Never heard of it. What's it do?"

"Causes Hypotension and respiratory failure." Robin slapped a handful of papers into Wally's lap as he dutifully recited the information. "It's a curare alkaloid derived from the South American plant by that name and is a neuromuscular blocking agent. The drug comes as a chloride salt which is dissolved in water and injected into the victim. The reaction time is immediate. Endrophonuim or neostigmine are both antidotes."

Wally whistled. "Dang . . . Batman's thorough."

Robin sat back down with the rest of the papers now rescued.

He couldn't complain. Wally _had_ warned him of the possible consequences of their last outing nearly two weeks ago. Today was the first time Robin had been back to the mountain since Batman had arrived at the docks in the wake of their impromptu mission. That the police had learned of the bust nearly fifteen minutes before the Batman had not amused the man in the least; especially in light of the fact that the ring of smugglers he had been investigating had been broken up by his junior partner and Kid Flash.

It hadn't mattered that the only injuries suffered by either boy had been relatively minor and healed by Robin without muss or fuss. Neither had it mattered that they had handled a group of eighteen men all by themselves _and_ recovered the shipment of illegal guns and ammo! One would think the Bat would have been proud . . .

Who knows . . . Maybe he had been. It was kind of hard to tell with the Batman, after all. But the fact that Robin had changed the date of the shipment in the Batcomputer and took Kid Flash into what he had known was a trap without sufficient backup had been what put Robin in the proverbial doghouse . . . Or would that be bat-house? Either way, he had been in trouble.

That he was _still_ in trouble two weeks later was because Robin refused to regret his actions. He would do them again in order to keep Batman safe. That was his job as Robin! The only thing he thought he might have done differently had been taking Wally into the situation with him. But still . . .

Robin could heal _anything_!

It was something that Batman refused to take into account; an ability that Bruce completely failed to appreciate! He still treated Robin as if he were breakable even though they both knew darn well that he wasn't. But Batman didn't trust the ability, and he continued to worry that depending upon it would lead them to disaster. Their numerous arguments over the last two weeks had failed to sway his father in this.

That Robin was back at the mountain even this soon had surprised the speedster. The glare the Bat had given the boys upon his arrival at the scene should have burned them both into lumps of charcoal. Wally still cringed thinking about the blistering lecture he received that day. Batman's disappointment in him was worse than even his Uncle Barry's worst angry moment. He couldn't' imagine what Robin had to suffer because the Dark Knight had been truly furious with the boy.

"I was worried we would need to drag the river for your body," Wally remarked, good-naturedly.

"If only . . ." Robin lamented. "It would have been more merciful."

Wally's grin wavered uncertainly. "Seriously?"

"Wally, please," Robin begged. "I have to study. The only reason I'm here is that Batman had to go to the Watchtower for some League business and Agent A is away for the next two weeks. Even then, it was with the understanding that I would have my report finished by the end of the day and be prepared for the exam tomorrow. You don't want to know what will happen if I fail."

Wally's eyes widened. "What will happen if you fail?"

Robin's mouth turned down as he shot Wally a look of disbelief. "Dude, I just told you; you don't want to know!"

"Yeah, I know, but that just makes me even more curious!"

Robin snatched the papers Wally was still holding and began shuffling them; attempting to put them back in some kind of order. He just rolled his eyes at the speedster's morbid curiosity and tried to ignore him. He was just settling back in when the zeta tube announced Batman's arrival.

Robin checked his chronometer. Batman had been gone for less than an hour! Why was he back so soon?

"The exam is postponed, Robin," Batman told him a minute later as he swept into the room. "I have a mission that will be taking me off planet for a couple of days. You'll be staying here at the mountain until I return or until Agent A gets back."

"What kind of mission?" Robin set his homework aside.

"There is a series of meteors that are earthbound," Batman explained. "Martian Manhunter, Wonder Woman, and I are going attempt to change their trajectory."

He frowned. "Isn't there someone else that can do that for you?"

"Superman has a mission outside of the solar system, and Green Lantern was called back to Oa," Batman told him.

"So, what about Gotham," Robin asked. "Do you want me to patrol for you while you're gone?"

Batman shook his head. "That won't be necessary, Robin. I've already checked. There have been no escapes from Arkham. Barring that, Gotham should be relatively quiet until I return."

"Quiet? . . . This _is_ Gotham we're talking about, isn't it," Robin asked dryly.

"Nonetheless, I don't want you patrolling alone without some kind of backup," Batman reiterated. "With Agent A gone, Gotham will just have to survive without us."

At Robin's look of frustration, Batman pursed his lips. "Look, if some major catastrophe occurs, you can contact me and I'll return as quickly as I can. In the meantime . . ." he sighed. "If worse comes to worst, Black Canary and Green Arrow will be on the Watchtower . . . But that is _only_ in case of an emergency!"

Robin's mouth tightened, and he turned around, putting his back to the room. "Got it. In an emergency, I'll contact you."

"Robin," Batman laid his hand on his shoulder. "I'm still angry, too," he said softly. "But despite what they did, the members of the League would drop everything to help you. That being said, you know how I feel about other heroes in my city. I cannot imagine what kind of disaster could happen in the next two days that would require you to call them in, but know that you aren't alone. I don't want you tackling something major by yourself. And if it isn't major, you can ignore it. If it is possible, however, I would prefer it if you would wait for my return."

Robin wasn't yet able to wrap his mind around the idea of forgiveness. The Justice League had just given up on him. The last thing he would ever do at this point would be going to the Justice League for help; not when he couldn't trust them to have his back. He saw Wally shifting nervously out of the corner of his eye. Aqualad and Artemis walked in then; hesitating at the door in case this was a private moment.

If some catastrophe occurred while Batman and Agent A were away that he couldn't wait for, Robin knew exactly who he would call in for assistance. He didn't need the Justice League. Not when Robin already had a league of his own.

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **Oh, btw, all of that information Robin spouted about the medical drug, Tubarine, is indeed factual. It is apparently popular for use in homicides by medical personnel or others with access to hospital drugs. In a case involving a series of hospital deaths in the eastern US, Tubarine was suspected. All the victims had appeared to die of heart attacks. The investigation took a turn when a vial containing Tubarine was found in the locker of an intern.**


	31. Pt 30 - Catastrophe

**Warning: Some Strong Language . . .**

* * *

"What would you like for breakfast, Robin?"

Robin looked up at M'gann from behind his sunglasses as he walked into the kitchen. She stood over the counter stirring something he found vaguely suspicious. He wondered how Conner hadn't been losing weight over the course of weeks with M'gann's cooking. She was sweet and was awesome in the field, but . . . in the kitchen. He sighed, missing Alfred more than ever.

"Um, is there any cereal," he asked heading to the pantry.

"You'd rather have cereal?"

He winced at the slight hurt in her voice. Pulling out a box of Pearls of Choco Goodness, he moved back to the counter. "I'm sorry, M'gann. It's just that I'm not allowed to eat cereal at home. I can only have it when I'm here."

M'gann's face cleared. "Oh, okay, then. I'll get you the milk if you want to grab a bowl."

Robin smiled. _Disaster averted_ , he thought as he pulled a bowl from the shelf. Always helpful, M'gann set the milk beside him.

"Thank, Miss M," he said, pouring the cereal and the milk.

"So, what plans do you have for the weekend now that you are free?" M'gann moved back to the stove, pouring her egg batter into the skillet.

The instant sizzle told Robin the burner was too hot, but he located the fire extinguisher, just in case, and then moved to sit at the breakfast bar. "I thought I would finish up the homework Batman left for me. He'll expect it to be done when he returns tomorrow night."

"That sounds boring," Wally said as he waltzed into the kitchen next. He slid up behind M'gann and peeked over her shoulder into the pan and winced.

"Good morning, Wally," M'gann said, cheerfully. "This will be done in a minute. Grab a plate."

Panic flared in Wally's eyes. "Oh, that's okay, beautiful. I wouldn't want to take your breakfast. I'll whip myself up something instead." He moved to the refrigerator in a blur of speed.

"Since when do you refuse food," Artemis said with a grin as she entered the room.

"Hey!" Wally glared at her from behind the fridge door. "I don't take food from other people . . ." He flashed them a sheepish smile, then. "Well, not often anyway."

Artemis smirked, but didn't pursue the topic. She didn't want to hurt M'gann's feelings either. "Too bad Batman didn't leave us a mission before he left."

"I don't know," M'gann said softly. "It might be fun just hanging out as ourselves for a change. We can get to know each other better."

"Ah, ah," Wally warned as he dropped the fixings for a sandwich on the counter. "Rob's not allowed to share anything that might give away his secret identity. Bat rule number two."

Conner stepped into the room at that point. "What's bat rule number one?"

"Never go anywhere without your utility belt," Robin supplied between spoonfuls of cereal.

"You really have a bunch of bat rules?" Artemis asked.

Robin grinned. "One for every occasion."

"And what would that be," Kaldur asked, slipping into the room next.

"Bat rules," Wally told him. His hands were a blur and seconds later two dozen sandwiches appeared. He tossed the plastic bread wrapper at Conner and the super boy pulled out a bin just in time to catch it.

"Yes! Two points!" Wally laughed. "Deli sandwiches for any who want some," he announced.

No one moved for a second, until M'gann's voice cried out. "Oh, darn it! I burnt the eggs! Oh well, we have plenty more. Can I fix you all something?"

"I think I'll take a sandwich, Kid. Thanks!" Artemis practically yelped.

"Do not go to any trouble on my account, M'gann. Sandwiches are fine with me." Kaldur smiled, as he picked up two.

Conner shrugged his shoulders and grabbed three.

Wally looked down at his rapidly dwindling stack. He picked one up and handed it to M'gann after she finished pouring the ruined eggs away.

She smiled shyly. "Thanks Wally."

"No problem, babe," he winked at her and scooped up the rest of his sandwiches on a platter and zipped into the TV room.

Robin finished his cereal, washed his dish and spoon, and moved to follow the others. Wally was flipping channels when something flashed on the screen that made Robin freeze suddenly. The next instant, he practically dove over the back of the couch.

" _Stop_! Go back," he yelled, fumbling for control of the remote.

"What? Wait! What's going on?" Wally used his lightning fast reflexes to catch the falling remote. "What happened?"

Robin jumped off of the couch to stand in front of the television. "Go back," he snapped. "There was a news report about Gotham City."

Wally began flipping the channels backwards slowly. Robin held up a hand when the report he had seen appeared.

"Stop," he commanded. "This is it."

M'gann blinked. "But this is a local news station from Happy Harbor? Why would they be doing a piece on Gotham?"

"Because something big has happened," Robin answered grimly.

Artemis sat on the arm of the couch. "Of course it has," she complained. "Batman's away and Robin's stuck here."

"Sh," Robin sliced his hand through the air for silence. "There's been a break out at Arkham," he told them. His voice lowered as he began to chant quietly, or maybe it was a prayer. At this point, he wasn't sure himself, but he was leaning strongly towards prayer. "Not him. Not him. Not him. Not him. Please, don't let it be him!"

"Who is it, Robin," Kaldur asked, but the answered flashed on the screen just as the reporter repeated the headline.

" _I repeat for those of you just tuning in. Five guards and one doctor were killed during last night's breakout when Joker escaped from Arkham Asylum; Gotham City's prison for the mentally insane. Several citizens have also lost their lives when their paths crossed the fleeing inmate. The search is still on, but the only leads the police have at this point are the swath of bodies that have been left in the wake of this mad clown. The death toll has reached ten and continues to rise with every hour the Joker remains free. The question on everyone's mind is, where is Batman? The masked vigilante was summoned hours ago, but there has no sign of the masked crusader or that of his young partner, Robin_."

Robin looked like if someone touched him that he would shatter so tight was the tension in his shoulders.

" _Oh my God_ ," Artemis gasped.

Kaldur turned to the young vigilante. "Robin, did Batman give you instructions on what to do in case something like this happened?"

"Yeah," he gritted out; spinning on his heel.

* * *

He marched out of the room. The Team scrambled to follow; abandoning the television as the reporter repeated the story of the breaking news.

Robin swung by the computer in the main chamber, and began typing fast. Suddenly the sound of a ringing phone could be heard. He motioned the Team for silence. It only rang twice before it was answered.

"Gordon," a man's voice barked.

"Commissioner," Robin answered. "What's the news?"

"Robin," the commissioner's voice asked. "Thank God! Where is Batman? We need him! This blasted clown is on a rampage, and we seem to always be a step behind. Unfortunately, every step we do take we seem to trip over yet another body . . . and he's only been free for the past seven hours."

"I saw the report. Ten dead," Robin said.

"It's up to twelve now. A someone just called in to report that he found a young couple murdered on their front lawn. Their car stolen."

"And you're sure this was a Joker death?" Robin asked.

"No mistaking it. He always leaves his signature like he thinks he's some demented artist of some kind." The commissioner sounded strained. "Son, I could really use some good news right now. Please tell me Batman's already on Joker's trail."

Robin swallowed. He was leaning into the computer console with his head down. "I'm afraid not, Commissioner," he said, regretfully. "Batman's unavailable for another . . ." Robin glanced at the time. "Thirty-six hours."

" _Goddamn it_!" There was a beat. "Oh, crap. I'm sorry, Robin. I apologize for my language . . ."

"You're under a lot of stress right now, Commissioner. It's understandable." Robin said in a calm manner. That he was anything but calm was only evident to those present that could see him clenching his fists in angry frustration.

"That doesn't make it acceptable," Gordon answered. "Look, Robin. I need to go now. Thank you for contacting me. At least now I know what we're up against. We're on our own here."

Robin's head snapped up. "You're _not_ on your own, Commissioner. Not by a long shot! I'll be there ASAP! Tell me where the latest deaths took place. You can give me a run down once I get there. Maybe there's a pattern here that's emerging that we're not seeing just yet."

"Robin, I'm not certain that's a good idea, son," Gordon said quickly. "This is the Joker we're talking about here. I doubt the Batman would approve of you tackling him alone. I know that _I_ don't."

He knew the commissioner was correct, but his mind was made up. The death toll could easily triple or quadruple the current body count in the next thirty-six hours, and that was _if_ Joker hadn't a plan in place.

"I won't be alone, Commissioner," Robin assured him. This was the catastrophe that Batman had been talking about; the emergency that he didn't expect Robin to ignore. But if he attempted to take on Joker alone, he knew he wouldn't be allowed out of the Batcave again until he was eighteen and already moved out of the manor. "I have backup."

"If you're sure, Robin. I trust you. And honestly, we could use all the help we can get." On that note, the commissioner hung up.

Robin turned to face the Team. His eyes moved over each one of them. He had told himself he would rather call upon them than anyone in the JLA, but . . . He hesitated. This was the _Joker_ ; one of the 'Big Baddies' as he was wont to call them. If this was the Riddler or Poison Ivy, or even the Penguin, Robin wouldn't think twice about asking his Team for help.

Unfortunately, the Team was relatively new. Although they've been doing well, they had only been working together for a few short months, and they've never faced anything remotely close to the Joker yet. Seldom did the clown work with another criminal. When he did, the 'partner' tended to rein the clown in, at least for a while. But the Joker on his own . . . Even with years of experience, Batman and Robin had serious trouble capturing and containing him, and then it often came at a cost – the kind of cost that came with sutures.

"We are here for you, Robin," Kaldur was saying.

"You know it, dude," Wally was practically vibrating with excitement.

That was what worried Robin. Going after the Joker wasn't exciting. If Wally had any idea what he would be up against, he would be vibrating in fear. At least Kaldur was taking it with the kind of seriousness the situation deserved. But despite this, Robin couldn't bring himself to ask the Team for help.

He was going to have to do as Batman suggested and call in for League assistance. He hated to do it. Green Arrow had his respect in most cases, but none of the League had ever gone up against Joker either. He could only pray that Ollie would listen to him and not simply try to take over the investigation. He had never worked with Arrow one on one like this, and Robin hated that the first time would be with one of Batman's greatest adversaries. There wasn't any room for mistakes here.

Batman didn't trust Robin's newfound gift, but it would give him an edge that Joker wouldn't be expecting. If he could keep GA close, Robin could protect him. It wasn't as if he had a choice . . . _Thirty-six hours_ . . . He glanced at the chronometer. Thirty-five and a half now. It was just too long to let the Joker roam free.

"Sorry, Wally," Robin told him. He looked at the rest of the Team. "I wish I could, but you've never been up against the Joker before."

"And _you've_ never gone up against him by yourself before either," Artemis countered.

"Like I told the commissioner, I won't be alone," he said, unhappily. "I'm going to do this Batman's way and call the Watchtower."

Robin turned around to head to his room to change into his uniform. "But stay on alert. If this doesn't work out, I may have need of you yet."

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **Uh oh . . .**

 **Oh, and the name of Robin's cereal is based off of a running joke in my little household. We like to make up more 'entertaining' names for the cereal brands we use. In actuality, the name we generally use for this particular cereal was too long to use for the story. This was the shortened version. My daughter and I call this "Round, Brown Pearls of Choco Deliciousness" . . . Even breakfast tends to be more interesting at my house. :D**


	32. Pt 31 - Green Arrow

**Three different POVs in this one. The first is Commissioner Gordon's; the second POV is Robin's; and the third POV is from our guest star, Green Arrow . . .**

 **WARNING: I don't remember any bad language in this chapter, but you never know . . .**

* * *

"Robin, I told you I thought this was too dangerous for you alone," Commissioner Gordon said as he turned to face the young vigilante.

What he found surprised him, however.

" _G-Green Arrow_? A little far from Star City, are you not?"

He didn't like the idea of another city's vigilantes showing up in his town, but he knew that Green Arrow was a part of the Justice League with Batman. And though Robin was very young still, he had been fighting the crazies in Gotham alongside Batman for five years. As long, if not longer, he thought, than Green Arrow had been fighting crime in Star City.

But he did trust Robin. The boy had earned his respect over the years. But this was the Joker. Gordon had feared for the boy attempting to take on the clown alone. He was relieved that Robin was smart enough to call in backup. So, if the boy was willing to vouch for this green-clad archer . . . Perhaps . . .

Green Arrow nodded and smiled a greeting at the commissioner. "I hear you are having some clown problems, Commissioner. Robin asked me to step in while Batman's away."

"Clown problems, indeed," Gordon agreed cautiously. "How familiar are you with Joker?"

Green Arrow glanced at the boy with him. "I've never dealt with him personally, but I've follow the news and have heard plenty from Batman himself."

Gordon frowned. "Joker isn't your typical arch-villain, you need to understand . . ."

"Yes, with a penchant for sick humor," Green Arrow finished for him.

"Penchant for . . . Son, the Joker is a psychotic killer, you realize," Gordon said. He refused to waste time prettying it up. If this archer character had any hope of capturing the crazed clown, he needed to understand the depth of the Joker's psychosis.

"He is mad, that is certain, but he is also devious and diabolical and unfortunately, quite brilliant. No one's had any luck in outwitting and capturing him except for the Batman." His gaze flickered to Robin and back to Green Arrow. "I worry that you'll not be prepared for his brand of violence."

The vigilante nodded; his expression serious. "That is why Robin is with me," he said, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder. "He knows Gotham and can be immeasurable help in locating the Joker. Don't worry, Commissioner. Between Robin and myself, we should have this clown back in Orkin Asylum in no time."

"Arkham," Robin corrected, wincing slightly at the error.

"What?" Green Arrow glanced down at the young vigilante.

"It's Arkham Asylum; not Orkin," the boy repeated patiently.

The archer frowned. "Are you sure?"

Robin appeared to grit his teeth as he answered. "Yes . . . I'm sure," he told him. "Orkin is a pest control company."

Gordon watched the dynamics that went on between the two worriedly. "Have you two ever worked together before today?"

The two glanced at each other and then back at Gordon. They seemed to come to some agreement in that two-second time span.

"We have . . . a bit," Robin assured him.

"You and Batman are a well-oiled machine," Gordon began. "You two will need to work together just as well if you have any hope of finding and capturing this madman." His warning, while directed at Robin was for the both of them.

Gordon captured Green Arrow's attention. "You will need to depend upon Robin's greater knowledge and experience with the Joker. Are you prepared to do that?"

The other man's grip on his bow tightened. "Don't worry, Commissioner. I'll handle Joker . . ." He looked at the boy beside him almost as an after-thought. " _We_ will handle him together."

Gordon couldn't help the little niggle of worry that seemed to itch in the back of his brain madly. He looked at Robin intently and then back at the archer. "You will be careful. I want you to call for backup if you need it. I'll have three SWAT teams on alert."

* * *

At least Green Arrow looked disturbed after they had glimpsed the bodies. Maybe he would take this more seriously. Commissioner Gordon hadn't looked convinced, however. But that was understandable since they themselves weren't exactly convinced how well they could work together either.

They had out-in-out lied to Gordon when they had assured him that they had worked together before. Green Arrow had only assisted a couple of times during training, and even then his focus had been on Artemis more so than the rest of the team. Their only hope lie in his experience with Batman and Robin's experience with Artemis and Red Arrow would give them some sort of starting point.

"I don't understand why Joker is this far out in the suburbs," Robin muttered. "He usually never strays far from the city center or the industrial areas."

"What about the docks?" Green Arrow asked as they moved back to the Batmobile.

Batman was going to have his hide for using the car for sure, but they couldn't exactly swing out here amongst the cottages and ranch-style homes, now could they?

"Occasionally, but not often." Robin thought about what they had seen as they settled back into the vehicle. "Computer, bring up a map of Gotham."

A glowing image appeared from the console and hovered in front of them. Robin placed his finger near one edge of the image and an "X" appeared.

"Nice," GA crooned. "That's a nifty trick. I bet it comes in handy a lot."

Robin ignored the comment as his finger touched place after place. "X"s glowed red, marking each position. Robin's finger moved back to the original "X".

"This is Arkham and where Joker's reign of terror began," he said.

"Reign of terror, huh?" GA grinned. "Drama much, kid?"

Robin's mouth turned down, but he didn't comment on the remark. He wasn't used to not being taken seriously, but he understood that he was five years younger than Roy and three years younger than Artemis. Green Arrow hadn't had the opportunity to see him in action. All the archer had to go on was whatever tales Batman had told GA about working with him. And the likelihood that Batman had volunteered any information about Robin was slim to none.

His finger continued to travel along the map, noting each spot he had previously marked. "This was his first stop," Robin told him.

"How do you know this?" GA tilted his head as he began to actually study the map finally.

"It was where the first bodies outside of Arkham were found," Robin explained.

He sighed internally. Batman would have already known this. Usually it was Robin who was struggling to keep up. This felt odd to him, but he shoved down the growing sense of foreboding and continued. He moved along the path.

"Then here, here, and here. This is where we are now."

Robin studied the map, looking for a pattern.

"Looks random to me," GA remarked. "You sure this Joker character has a plan?"

"It's hard to tell," Robin admitted. "His plans don't follow a logical pattern normally. But I doubt that it's random. The Joker has something in mind."

Arrow took his hat off of his head and ran his finger through his short-cropped, blond hair. "It doesn't look like it from where I sit. Look, he moves here and then here, but then he moves down here and then over here. It makes no sense!"

Robin frowned. "It makes no sense to us right now, but once we figure out what he's doing, it will become obvious. You know," he rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. "Joker's probably wondering where Batman is. We're generally never this far behind him. I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't getting a little annoyed with us right about now."

* * *

Oliver grinned. The kid was as cute as hell! He remembered watching Batman rub his chin while in thought as well, and seeing Robin unconsciously mimic his mentor was amusing. It made him wonder if Roy had picked up any of his habits. Or even Artemis, although he hadn't spent nearly the same amount of time with her.

"Are you paying attention?" Robin snapped at him. "You're supposed to be helping me figure this out!"

GA looked back at the map, feeling a little guilty for allowing his mind to wander for a minute. He was starting to change his mind about the kid's cuteness, however. He worked just a little too similar to Batman to suit Arrow.

"Sure, kid," he said. "Joker's getting annoyed with us. But that's a good thing, right?"

Robin shook his head. "No. That's a very bad thing. People tend to wind up dead with a lot more frequency whenever Joker's annoyed. In fact, he's probably looking for something to shake us up after this."

Arrow watched as Robin checked his chronometer. "It's already been a while since he murdered this couple. I suspect that he'll be contacting us next. I doubt he's willing to wait any longer to make his play."

"How big a play should we expect? The Joker hasn't been out for more than a few hours. He's been hopping around ever since; too busy to work up something major, wouldn't you say?"

"A few hours can be more than enough, especially if he's been planning this while he was still incarcerated in Arkham." Robin frowned. He widened the map and leaned in to determine the exact addresses. " _Wait_! I see it now," he yelped. "The pattern!"

GA leaned in as well, but still couldn't see shit. "What pattern?"

"Joker didn't start out in the suburbs," Robin exclaimed. "He started here in one of his previous haunts at the edge of the industrial park near Arkham. Batman and I caught him just a few blocks from here about two years ago. And over here, Batman captured him nearby early last year. In this spot we caught him before he could cause much mischief just six months ago. In fact, that time was almost easy compared to all the others."

"You're saying that he revisiting places he had been caught all those previous times?"

"No. Not the exact places. Each of these spots are a few blocks from his previous hideouts," Robin said.

"I'm not sure I get what you're driving at," Ollie admitted ruefully.

"He has something big, really big, in the works." Robin twisted in his seat to face him; the boy's face was serious, but also something else.

It took him a minute to place it, but when he did, Ollie had to suppress a shiver. It was fear . . . Whatever this criminal clown had in store for them, it had Robin spooked.

"Don't you get it?" Robin's voice rose slightly. "The Joker has been planning this for more than _two years_! All those other times he's broken out and run amok; it was all smoke and mirrors. Whatever was in all those places he's been visiting today, he placed it there over the course of the last two years . . . All in preparation for today!"

"Holy . . . Are you sure?" Ollie looked at the map again.

Robin began marking secondary spots on the map using a different colored "X". "These are all the places he's been captured during the past couple of years."

Sure enough, every place Joker hit during the past several hours was within a couple of blocks of all his previous captures. Except here . . .

"But why did he come here? What's here?"

Robin scowled as he stared back at the crime scene through the opaque windows. "He stole a car," the boy murmured. "He needed a car for something?"

"For what?"

" _I don't know_!" Robin looked frustrated.

"You don't think he's going to flee the city, do you?" GA hated the idea that the clown could choose _his_ city to relocate.

"No." The absolute certainty in the boy's voice made him curious.

"You're that sure of it," he couldn't help but ask. "Seems like a logical thing to do; lie low until the heat's off."

"This is Joker," Robin said. "He doesn't do logical. Besides, this is Gotham City." At GA's look, he explained. "It's _Batman's_ town. Joker is obsessed with Batman. He'd never leave Gotham. In fact, whatever it is he's been planning, it is all for Batman's benefit."

"But Batman's not here."

"No, he's not." Robin bit his lip. That frightened little kid look was back.

"Joker's going to be very disappointed," GA murmured. "Don't worry, kid. We'll get him."

He watched Robin shudder out of the corner of his eye, but the scared look he had was fading and being replaced with determination. The kid was a lot tougher than he looked.

"The Joker doesn't do disappointed, either," the boy said, slowly shaking his head. "We're going to have to work fast because this is going to be bad."

* * *

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	33. Pt 32 - Dun Waiting

**Warning: A Little Bit of Language . . .**

* * *

"Hey, kid! You do realize, don't you, that we're going to have this wrapped up before Batman ever gets that message."

Robin glanced over at Green Arrow. Ollie was smiling at him again. He used to wish that Batman would smile at him sometimes, but the most the Bat had ever managed was the slightest quirk of his lips. It used to bother him sometimes, especially when the other mentors would laugh and joke with their partners. Now . . . Robin missed the smirk.

It wasn't anything against Green Arrow, not really, but his easy manner, quick smiles, and light bantering was not doing anything to ease Robin's mind. The Joker was serious business, and Robin couldn't help but think that Ollie didn't understand the danger this particular villain represented.

He sighed, and glanced out the window at the passing scenery. Why did he think that GA was going to get himself killed? _Both_ of them?

It was likely that Batman would already be heading back to earth when he received Robin's message. Sending it probably didn't do anything to help his situation. And it bothered him that he couldn't get a hold of him quickly; to get his advice, or . . . or just to hear his voice. That deep, gravely sound that terrified the criminals was soothing to Robin. It made him feel safe, and right now, even having Green Arrow beside him, Robin didn't feel safe.

People didn't understand his loyalty to Batman, but that was only because they didn't understand their relationship. Bruce seldom showed it in public, and Batman never showed it at all, but he loved Robin . . . He loved Dick! And he knew that Bruce, in either personae, would give his life to keep him safe, and he would do it without the slightest hesitation.

Robin would do it for him as well, even before death had become meaningless to him. That was part of his job as Robin after all, to protect Batman's back. But Robin would have done it anyway because Bruce had become everything to him in the time since his parents' death. His life would be over, he just knew it, if something ever happened to the man who had voluntarily stepped into the empty shoes left behind by Dick's father.

"Maybe," Robin answered Batman's fill-in. "Hopefully . . ." It was too late now to regret his choice of inviting Green Arrow to stand in for his own mentor. The Joker still had to be caught.

A green gloved hand ruffled his hair. Robin rolled his eyes at the easy touch.

"That's a piss-poor attitude to have," Ollie exclaimed. "You have to think positive in this business, kid, or it will eat you alive and spit you out cold."

Funny . . . _He_ was usually the optimistic one in the partnership. It appeared he had taken on Batman's role in this one, but _someone_ needed to take this seriously. He didn't' say anything to Oliver's advice, however. What could he say? ' _Hey, Ollie! You realize that I've been in this business as long as you have?_ ' Yeah, that would go over well. Adults didn't like it when kids had as much or even more experience at something than they did.

He hoped that he could just convince Green Arrow to listen to him when they finally located Joker. Although Green Lantern had the worst reputation of rushing into a situation without thinking things through, Robin hoped that didn't mean that Green Arrow was rushing in just seconds behind him. No one ever gave the stats on the second worst reputation, however.

"You know, I'm going to have to get me one of these," Arrow was still talking; this time the topic was the Batmobile. "The cornering ability is fantastic. And the power . . . Man! This beauty can go from zero to sixty in what? Two point five seconds?"

Robin's mind was going over what they knew so far, but he answered anyway. "One point seven nine seconds . . . It also has the best five to sixty acceleration as well."

"Da-a-amn," Oliver whistled. "Batman's going to have to give me the specs for one of these babies. Who's the manufacturer?"

"Wayne Tech's R&D department developed the specs for the different onboard systems. Private manufacturer," Robin finally turned to look at him. "Have you given any thought at all as to what the Joker had kept hidden in any of those warehouses and storage units?"

They had spent the last hour visiting two of the other crime scenes in order to determine why Joker had been there. Each spot had ample storage and there was indications that someone had removed something from each. The people killed in those places either owned the unit or had been homeless and using the deserted area to cop a squat.

So far, they had confirmed Robin's theory that Joker had been storing things in these spots, but whoever might have had a clue as to what those things had been were dead or ignorant. The next place on the list was another storage unit. The owner, however, was out-of-town, and that meant he was still alive, unlike the security guard that had met his demise. Robin had alerted Gordon and the police were currently scouring the guy's apartment in an effort to locate him. It might be a wasted effort, though. There is no telling whether or not the owner had a clue what the Joker's storage unit might have contained.

"Uh, no, kid," Arrow answered. "So far there hasn't been enough evidence to come to a conclusion."

Robin tightened his lips. _Batman_ would have found something.

Arrow did what they did most of the time; stop criminals in the act of the crime, but Batman and Robin didn't just stop muggings and robberies. They investigated, interrogated, staked out, and infiltrated to discover not just when shipment of drugs or weapons or human trafficking were scheduled to be delivered into their city, but who the perpetrators were; tracing the crimes back to the crime families involved. They worked to wipe out the criminals from the top down if they could find the evidence to link them.

That is why the Penguin and Harvey Dent were cooling their heels in Arkham right now. They were only two of the crime bosses using Gotham as a base, though. Batman was still working on pinning drug and weapon charges to the current Gotham-based division of the di Bastioni crime family. The di Bastioni family were actually based out of New York City, but had been trying, relatively unsuccessfully, to spread their tentacles into Gotham for years.

Maybe he was being unfair to Green Arrow. Robin wasn't especially informed of his modus operandi, but Batman was called the world's greatest detective for a reason.

 _Deet Deet Deet_ . . .

The alert interrupted Robin's thoughts.

"What's that," GA asked, his eyes flickering over the control panel.

Robin leaned over and activated the onboard computer system. "We're linked to the police bands," he explained.

"Really? I hadn't heard anything," he noted.

"I programmed it to alert me when certain key words or phrases were used. Other crimes can be distracting when we're working on a big case," Robin told him. His voice rose in excitement. "There! Joker's been located in a . . . mall?"

What the heck? Why would he go to a mall?

"I'm programming the mall's coordinates into the car's GPS. It looks as though we will be going into a hostage situation," Robin reported. "Police estimate the number of hostages to be around thirty."

Oh no . . . Thirty potential victims? How many would die before they could get there?

"Green Arrow, I'm going to put the Batmobile on auto-pilot, and hit turbo. Release the wheel and take your foot off of the pedal. The computer can navigate the streets and avoid traffic much easier than you can." Robin began punching in the codes.

"It can do that?" GA marveled.

Robin's lips quirked. "Yeah. Batman thinks of everything."

"Why would that crazy clown take hostages in a mall?"

"GA, I was wondering that very thing,"

"Well, he just made his first mistake," Green Arrow grinned at Robin.

"How's that?" Robin asked.

"There are so many potential points of entry in a shopping mall that it should be easy enough to get the slip on him." Arrow nodded in Robin's direction; his smile reflecting what Robin considered to be a dangerous sort of arrogance. "As much fun as this has been kid, your Joker will be tucked up sweetly back in his cell in Orkin Asylum in an hour – tops!"

That sense of foreboding had returned. Robin sat back in his seat and looked back out the window. The sun was going down. They had been out most of the day. But the coming darkness wasn't going to bring them any advantages this time. A shopping mall was very brightly lit, and the Joker was no fool, despite Green Arrow's opinion. The clown had gotten tired of waiting.

They were walking into a trap.

"And it's _Arkham_ Asylum," he muttered under his breath.

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	34. Pt 33 - On My Count

**No Warnings . . .**

* * *

The plan, as far as plans go, was simple. Green Arrow would confront the Joker while Robin quietly released and rescued the hostages. Sometimes the simplest plans were the best . . . right? They would then close in on the psychotic clown from two sides, hopefully hemming him in and enabling them to capture him.

"Remember, Green Arrow. You have to expect the unexpected with Joker," Robin was giving last minute advice before they separated.

"Cliché much, kid?" Ollie smirked at him as he readjusted his quiver to give him better, quicker access.

Robin frowned. "You have to take this seriously! With the Joker, the unexpected is always the worst possible scenario. _Nothing_ is as it seems and _everything_ is lethal."

Arrow stopped and looked down at the young hero beside him. Although Robin only came up to his chest in height, the boy looked world-weary and worried. He knew Robin would consider it condescending, but he took a knee in order to look the boy in the eye . . . or in the mask. Robin used the same creepy white lenses that the Bat used. Not that he could complain. He had adopted the lenses himself just a year ago.

"Robin, stop worrying. This isn't my first rodeo. I've been around the block a few times, and while most of the super villains I deal with in Star City aren't quite as demented as those in Gotham, they were often just as lethal. I've always managed to come out on top," Oliver told him with a hand on Robin's shoulder.

Robin sighed. "I'm sorry, GA, but I don't know how I can emphasize it enough. Joker isn't like the other villains. He's . . ." he searched for the right word and couldn't find it.

"Crazy, yes, I know."

" _NO_! You don't _know_!" Robin slapped the hand off of his shoulder. "You can't know because you've never gone up against him! You are going to get yourself killed if you don't listen to me!"

The easy-going look on Oliver's face slid away and something cold and hard took over. For the first time that Robin could remember Green Arrow actually looked dangerous to him. Did he piss him off? If so, he wasn't going to apologize. This was the attitude GA would need in order to come out of this alive.

Green Arrow stood up and hoisted his bow. "I know I'm not Batman, kid. I'm sorry that he couldn't get back in time to partner you, but you are going to have to trust that I know what I'm doing. I get it. Joker is mad and he's unpredictable. I'll keep your warnings in mind, but you need to stop worrying about me and get your head in the game. Those hostages in there are your first priority."

"I'll do my part," Robin promised.

They had already determined that the Joker was near the food court and which point of entry they each would take. Without another word, the two moved off in separate directions. Robin headed to the edge of the roof where he would repel to the ground. He would be taking an entry point through one of the fast food vendors there.

Checking the blueprints, Robin decided to go through the back hallway through which four of the vendors exited. The hallway also wrapped around through some of the administration offices and bathrooms. With luck, he could get the people into the hallway and minimize the hostages' exposure to danger. The police would be waiting with other emergency vehicles to whisk the innocent away.

SWAT would be taking up positions in order to block possible exits and keep Joker contained after Robin and the hostages emerged. Robin would return to help Green Arrow neutralize the clown.

One last glance showed Green Arrow taking up his position by the skylight to wait for Robin's signal. His grand entry and planned position on the secondary level near the escalators was for show, to keep Joker's attention away from the activity that would be going on behind him.

Robin hooked his grapple and swung over the edge of the building; preparing to repel down.

"Good luck," he whispered as he released his line and began lowering himself down to the ground. "Please, don't die."

Robin collected his grapple line as soon as his feet hit the ground. The police, the fire department, and ambulances were still pulling into the deserted parking lot. Most of the people in the mall had evacuated as soon as Joker appeared; all except for the thirty or so that he had managed to capture. He saw men surrounding a SWAT van as they suited up.

He thought he saw Commissioner Gordon climbing out of one of the squad cars, but time was of the essence. He didn't stick around to chat. Hooking his grapnel gun to his belt, Robin took off at a run toward the employee entrance he had chosen. Less than ninety seconds later, Robin stood inside the hallway backing to Chicken Filet, Taco Bueno, General Chou's Chinese, and Hero's Hoagies.

Quietly, he jogged the hallway, carefully rounding the corner and passing the mall's administrative offices and public restrooms. As he neared the opening to the food court, Robin slid down to the floor and eased forward enough to survey the scene laid out in true Joker fashion in all its morbid detail.

Large bunches of colorful balloons were displayed all around the food court; tied to signs and chairs and even some plants in the tropical displays that decorated the mall's common area. It looked like a party was about to begin. Robin was wondering if the balloons were something more insidious when he spotted the suspicious, small, brightly-colored boxes attached to the strings of each bunch. Three security guards lay nearby; their faces frozen in macabre grins and their bodies contorted in painful rigor.

He counted twenty-four people sitting on the floor; each with a balloon tied to their waists. The tables and chairs were scattered and overturned. He counted nine teenagers and seven women; five men were interspersed among them. He saw two young children clinging to their mothers and one woman holding an infant. Even the baby had its own balloon!

He couldn't tell from here if any of the people were injured or not, but he had no doubt that Joker would kill them all and laugh as he did it. Currently, the clown prince of crime was standing on one of the tables; a five year old girl sitting at his feet, and terrorizing his hostages with descriptions of ways he would use to murder them. That made twenty-eight hostages. Where were the other two?

 _And why is he here_?

Robin glanced up at the skylight and saw Green Arrow peering down; waiting for Robin to get into position when suddenly, a couple came racing around the corner with a bag in hand.

"Please, don't hurt her," the father yelled, waving the bag. "We have it! It's right here!"

"Don't hurt my baby," the mother cried.

Joker chuckled. "Don't be shy. Bring it to me," he crooned at them in a singsong voice.

The couple didn't hesitate, despite their obvious fear. The father thrust the bag at the Joker as the mother reached for her child. The little girl held her arms open for her mother to pick her up. But before the girl could be swept up by her weeping parents, Joker grabbed her ponytail and yanked her back.

"Ah, ah, ah," he sang. "First things first. Let's see if you brought me the correct items."

Robin frowned and leaned forward a bit to get a better view. A couple of the teenagers spotted him, and Robin held his finger to his lips. The teens, obviously a couple, nodded wide-eyed and frantic before turning around again. Each of them whispered to the people on either side of them. Heads turned to spy him and then quickly turned back toward the Joker, and the word was spread quickly and quietly.

The Joker was peering in the shopping bag. "Yes, yes, oh, wonderful! Very good," he praised the shaking couple. "This is exactly what I needed."

The father yanked his daughter off of the table with lightning speed and steered his wife back to the others. The woman was weeping loudly and the child wailed, clinging to her father. As they moved out of the way, Robin caught sight of the writing on the bag.

 _Radio Shack_ . . . _What_?

But then he answered his own question. The electronics store had the parts available that someone with the know-how could rig up a detonator. Was _that_ what Joker was doing? If so, where was the bomb in question?

All of the hostages were accounted for. He and Green Arrow were too late to save the guards, unfortunately, but the others . . . Those people still had a chance. His eyes flicked back up to see Joker fiddling with the bag. He wasn't watching.

"Psst," Robin whispered.

The boy, from the original couple to notice him, glanced back. Robin indicated the group and then lifted his fingers slowly, counting silently . . . one, two, three. He then motioned for all of them to follow him. The boy frowned for a moment and then his face cleared. He nodded at Robin, and turned to whisper to his girlfriend. Again, heads moved in opposite directions as instructions were given and acknowledged and spread to the remaining hostages.

Robin watched and waited until all of the adults had been warned. The boy glanced back at him. Robin looked up to the skylight. He couldn't see Green Arrow, but knew that the visiting vigilante was watching him.

Touching the com in his ear, Robin counted to three with his fingers again for the sake of the hostages and then made a thumbs up sign.

"Now!"

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	35. Pt 34 - Surprise!

**Here's a bigger chapter for you! ;D Btw, this is NOT the YJ's kiddie-friendly version of the Joker from the series.**

 **Oh, and I don't own Radio Shack (LOL!) and neither have I ever worked for the company. I have bought stuff from them though, not that that makes any difference to the story or my rights to the company- of which I have NONE! Free advertising, guys! No suing . . .**

 **WARNINGS: Some Language and Mildly Graphic Images . . .**

* * *

The crash was loud and shattered glass flew everywhere as Green Arrow made his dramatic entrance; dropping down onto the second level near the top of the escalators. His bow was out and a special arrow notched. He was taking Robin's word for it that the Joker was not to be trifled with.

"Time's up, clown," he yelled. He wanted to draw the madman's attention further away from the hostages, and give Robin time to get them out.

As Robin took his cue and the hostages began scurrying toward him and the safety of the hallway, Green Arrow took his shot; cuffing together Joker's wrists. The clown was only startled for a moment, however as he looked up at the intruder, scowling.

"You're not Batman!" The Joker declared loudly.

Green Arrow got his first good look at Gotham's clown prince. He'd seen blurry pictures and shaky-cam videos of him before on the news and in the paper, but none of them had done the Joker any justice. The camera couldn't seem to capture the sense of unease and discomfort being in the man presence produced; especially when his attention found you.

There was something about this guy that was _wrong_ . . . It was that ' _off_ ' feeling that made the hair on his neck rise and a creepy-crawly sensation walk itself up his spine. So this was what the kid was talking about! It took some effort not to allow himself to freak out in some way.

 _God_! _Was this what Batman was up against on a regular basis here in Gotham_? Oliver let his eyes wander to Robin. He was tugging on a teenager's jacket to get him moving, and then the last of the hostages disappeared. No wonder Robin had been so afraid of facing him. He was glad the kid called the JLA for backup.

"I demand to know who you are," Joker was saying; dragging Green Arrow's attention back to him.

He hesitated; a shiver running up his back.

"I'm called Green Arrow," he said with a dry mouth. "I'm filling in for Batman."

"Hm," Joker growled at him; actually _growled_ at him! "Well, you are ruining everything. I expected Batman to show up."

"You can't have everything you want, Joker, so learn to deal with the disappointment," GA hugged his bravado close and taunted the clown. "Batman was too busy to deal with you personally today."

The Joker's weird smile dimmed a bit and his eyes narrowed dangerously; his anger plain on his distorted face. "He might live to regret that," the clown prince smirked. " _You_ , however, won't live long enough to regret much of anything."

Green Arrow notched another arrow and drew the bowstring back taut as he prepared for whatever unexpected thing that was supposed to happen that Robin had warned him about. "Don't threaten me, clown."

Joker's smile widened. He began to laugh. The clown's chuckling was deep and slow and definitely caused a wave of goosebumps to crawl over one's flesh.

"It's time for you to shut up, now," Green Arrow snapped.

The Joker slid his feet closer to the edge of the table he was still standing on.

"Freeze, Joker! Not another step," he warned.

Joker held up his cuffed hands in a parody of surrender. "You've already caught me," he giggled, in a voice that was made for horror films. "What harm could I possibly do now?"

One foot stepped onto a chair standing next to the table. The balloons that were attached to it wavered ominously. Arrow frowned.

"I said, stand still," he ordered.

Joker held his hands above his head. "I give up," he said. "I surrreennndeerr . . ."

The chair wobbled and Joker's cuffed hands dropped to the back of it to gain stability and a second later, both toppled to the floor. The balloon bunch broke free and began to lazily rise.

Joker struggled to his feet with the radio shack bag in one hand. A birdarang came out of nowhere, severing the handle to the bag. Robin was back! Green Arrow let loose another arrow, unwilling for the clown to get the slip on him. Bolos flew free halfway there and knocked the clown back to the floor when they wrapped around his legs.

"Nice shot, kid," he called down. "This guy's not so scary after all."

He notched another arrow, but the balloons had drifted in between him and the clown; blocking his view. The little box dangled ominously below the colorful array.

"Damn it," he snarled.

 _What is in it_ , he wondered. _A bomb_? It was getting too close to him. _Better to lower the package_ , he thought. He trusted Robin when the boy had told him Joker was tricky, so, he would avoid the box. If he got rid of a few of those balloons though, it would lower whatever the potentially deadly device was in the box back down to the floor gently.

"Arrow, watch out for the balloons!"

"I got it, kid! No worries . . ."

* * *

Robin skidded back into the food court and paused only long enough to assess the situation. Joker was carefully stepping down off of the table and onto a chair; his Radio Shack bag dangling from his arm. He held his hands away from his body in an effort to appear harmless. Was the other vigilante buying into it?

Suddenly Joker was toppling from his precarious perch. As he fell to the ground, the balloons were released into the air. Joker climbed to his feet, now clutching the all-important bag of parts from Radio Shack. As much as Robin knew those balloons were bad news, so too was whatever was in that bag. If Joker wanted it, he knew that people would die if the clown got to use it.

Robin pulled out a birdarang. He threw the sharp little weapon, severing the handles from the bag and causing it to drop onto the floor. Joker jerked his head in Robin's direction and spotted him.

"Oho! So, there you are! Where's your bat-buddy, little bird," he asked, hopefully.

"Too busy for you, Joker," Robin taunted. "You picked the wrong weekend to break out if you hoped for _his_ attention."

A new arrow flew by releasing a set of bolos which wrapped around Joker's legs and once more the clown hit the tiled floor.

"Nice shot, kid," GA called down to him from the upper deck. "This guy's not so scary after all!"

The balloons crossed between Joker and Green Arrow; blocking the hero's line of sight to the mad clown for a moment.

"Damn it," GA growled.

"Arrow, watch out for the balloons," Robin yelled.

There might be something in the little box, too, but knowing the Joker as he did, Robin suspected that the box was a decoy. The balloons were the danger . . . He suspected they contained a gaseous form of the Joker toxin.

"I got it, kid! No worries . . ." Green Arrow changed his aim and shot at the balloons in front of him.

"NO!" Robin yelled. "Not the balloons!"

* * *

Green Arrow aimed to take out just three of the balloons from the bunch drifting by him. Robin's cry came as his fingers released the bowstring; too late to stop the arrow from flying.

His accuracy, as usual, was dead on, and the arrow struck three of the balloons; popping them instantly. But instead of lowering to the floor as he had expected, all the balloons exploded in his face; flinging him off of his feet with the force of the blast!

The fire flared out and then began raining down in small clumps of burning latex. The tiny glowing particles of whatever had been inside the balloons began to fall onto him. It burned his bare skin and caught his uniform on fire. He slapped at the fire, but it wouldn't go out. He rolled, but the burning embers refused to die.

A hazy portion of his brain that still worked latched onto this information and gave it a name: white phosphorus!

" _Surprise_ ," Joker laughed in the distance.

Oliver screamed.

* * *

Robin gasped and dove under a table as particles of white phosphorus rained down over the area, catching everything combustible on fire. White smoke began filling the open area; obscuring sight. He wrapped himself in his flame-retardant cape and covered his head as the other balloons began exploding all around him. The embers would land on another balloon and would quickly eat through the latex, causing yet another explosion and fueling what was threatening to become a raging inferno.

A normal fire wouldn't stand much chance in the open mall area with all of the tile, metal, and concrete, but this was white phosphorus! It wouldn't go out and stay out unless it was submerged in water. What little he could still see showed that the fire was now expanding into a nearby clothing shops. As the more flammable substances inside the stores began to burn, black smoke was added to the heavy white haze.

He needed to get to Green Arrow! The man's screams echoed in the cavernous space. Robin had seen him take the brunt of that first explosion. If his body was covered in the white phosphorus particles, Oliver Queen would die! Those embers would burn all the way through to the bone!

Robin bolted from his hiding place.

Robin tried looked for the Joker, but the clown had disappeared into the white haze that was becoming thicker by the second. He didn't know if the explosion and fire had killed the clown or not, but as much as Joker needed to be caught, Robin had to help GA first. The man had only come to Gotham because Robin had asked him for his help!

There were still particles of the phosphorus floating in the air. Pulling his cape over his head, Robin ran in the direction of the screams. He couldn't see anything in the gray smoke. He coughed; his hands moved unerringly to his utility belt and the rebreather he had stored there.

Robin yelped as a few particles landed on his bare arms. He felt sharp pinpricks of pain as the white phosphorus began to eat through his cape. They dropped onto his shoulders and back, burning through his costume and into his skin and the muscles beyond. The pain flared as the phosphorus hit bone and organs, and he stumbled onto his knees. His rebreather fell from his lips as he gasped and grunted under the assault. His hands fumbled as he struggled to pick it up.

His saving grace was in that the particles were small and few at this point. His body was healing him almost as quickly as the phosphorus burned through him, but _it hurt_! _Gah_! The pain was excruciating! His head hanging down, Robin blinked at the sight of particles burning a hole through his uniform from the inside out and dropping to the tiled floor beneath him. It had eaten its way entirely through his body! This would have killed him had he still been normal!

 _Oh God_! _Green Arrow . . . Ollie_!

How much worse would this be for Oliver who had been standing within a few feet of the balloons when they first blew up?

Robin struggled to regain his feet; ignoring the fresh pain as new particles landed on him. Green Arrow's only hope lay in the fact that the majority of the balloons had exploded beneath the second floor deck where he had been standing.

Unable to see his hand in front of his face, Robin slammed into the side of the escalator. At least now he knew where he was! Robin followed the metal side until he discovered the entrance to the moving stairs. This one was going down, he realized. It wouldn't stop him though. Robin jumped onto it; racing as fast as he could to the top against the motion of the steps.

"Green Arrow! I'm coming," he yelled. "Hang on! Just . . . hang on!"

Only the man's continued screams told Robin that he hadn't yet succumbed to unconsciousness or, thank God, death. But the agony in the man's cries was the worst thing that Robin could ever remember hearing. It was a sound that he knew would haunt his nightmares forevermore.

 _And it's all my fault_ . . .

A blazing palm tree from the planter below stretched high towards the broken skylight. The darkening smoke appeared to be glowing in that direction. But its proximity to roofline helped raise the temperature in the sprinklers high enough to finally set them off. Robin sent a prayer of thanks because they desperately needed the water. He scrubbed at his skin, using the water to wash away new particles from his skin. His arms were peppered with burn marks, but even as he spotted them, they faded from view; his skin healing them within a few seconds.

Green Arrow should be somewhere to his left, he thought as he stumbled onto the second level. The noise the man was making made it easy to locate him. The incredible amounts of water that rained down on them shorted out the escalators and the lights flickered off. Emergency lighting came on next; making the gray smoke appear to glow a dark, dim red.

If not for the flood of water cascading over their heads, Robin would have sworn he had arrived in hell. He fell to his knees at Green Arrow's side and got his first glimpse of the man.

 _Oh God, no_! _Oh no_ . . .

Burns were splattered over half of his face! The upper portion of his uniform had been burned away, leaving the second and third degree burns on his chest exposed. Robin rubbed at the still burning cloth on his thigh and gaped at the hole beneath it. Scooping up palmfuls of water, Robin attempted to douse it. The phosphorus would burn all the way to his bone otherwise. . . .

There were still a few particles of burning white phosphorus in the air. Ollie couldn't stand anymore, so Robin yanked off his cape. It was flame retardant. Although it couldn't withstand the phosphorus for long, it was like him and could heal itself. He tossed it over Oliver, and grabbed the man under his arms. Green Arrow wasn't as large as Batman, but he was much larger than Robin, and the boy struggled to pull him away from the danger.

"You have to help me, Ollie," Robin gasped. "I'm not strong enough to pull you all by myself!"

Between them, Robin was able to drag Oliver several feet away. The smoke continued to darken as more poisonous gases from the flames were added to the now dingy white smoke. It was making Oliver choke. Robin only had the one rebreather with him. He didn't know if Green Arrow carried something similar or not, but didn't want to waste the time searching for something that might not be there. Robin would recover from smoke inhalation, but what good would it do Oliver if he could breath but still died from his injuries?

It would take time before rescuers could get in here and find them. Robin simply wasn't strong enough to get Green Arrow out alone, and Oliver's strength was next to nonexistent in his current state. Even now he was hovering between consciousness and unconsciousness. It would be more merciful if Ollie could just pass out, but Robin needed him awake. They couldn't stay here!

Robin could feel the pull of his power even through his gloves . . .

He could **_heal_** Ollie! Robin would become worthless for a while, but Green Arrow was more than strong enough to carry Robin to safety. But, unfortunately, Green Arrow didn't know the Joker. This disaster was proof of that! If Green Arrow went back after Joker while Robin took the time to heal and recover, who's to say that something like this wouldn't happen again, only next time without Robin there to save him!

No . . . Robin had to stay mobile. They still didn't know Joker's ultimate plan, and until Batman returned, Robin was Gotham's last, best hope against the madman!

Decision made, Robin pulled off one of his gloves. He would heal Green Arrow just enough to save his life and enable them to escape the inferno around them. Then he could get Ollie to the Watchtower for medical treatment. Once Green Arrow was safe, Robin would go after Joker again.

He would still need help. He _knew_ that, but Green Arrow proved to him that the remaining adult members of the JLA wouldn't take him seriously enough to heed his warnings about the deadly clown. He needed help from heroes who knew him personally and respected him. Heroes that already had some bit of experience working with him.

Gritting his teeth against the pain that was to come, Robin lay his hand onto Oliver's chest . . . And screamed!

* * *

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 **(And no . . . It isn't time for the endings just yet. There is still more to come!)**


	36. Pt 35 - Aftermath

**No Warnings . . . Yet.**

* * *

Joker had disappeared and apparently gone to ground.

Robin had helped Green Arrow to escape the inferno that the mall had become, and used the Batmobile's auto-pilot to get to the nearest zeta tube which happened to be in downtown Gotham. After he delivered Ollie to the Watchtower, he had refused all attempts at medical care despite Black Canary's insistence.

"I don't need it," he had told her, perhaps more virulently than necessary. "You should know by now that I can survive anything. A few burns are the least of my worries right now. I'm more concerned with the citizens of Gotham that aren't so resistant to Joker's attacks."

"You can still feel pain," she persisted. "And you shouldn't being going up against Joker alone. Batman wouldn't approve . . ."

"I asked for help," Robin snapped. "And I ended up having to save Green Arrow's ass! I don't know how Batman stands to work with any of you! None of you listen . . . Or is it just _my_ requests and advice that fall on deaf ears?"

He had never seen Canary struck speechless before, but he didn't stick around to bask in his verbal victory. It tasted like ashes in his mouth anyway.

Robin knew he shouldn't have taken his anger out on them, but he had come to the Justice League on Batman's advice, and once more they had let him down. He should have gone with his first instincts and taken his own team. They, at least, listened to him!

"Stay out of Gotham," he had told her as he turned back in the direction of the zeta tubes.

* * *

As soon as he arrived back at the Mount Justice, he went straight to the computer and put in a call to the commissioner. He waved for quiet as the team rushed out to meet him. Robin ignored their shocked gasps at his appearance. It wasn't his injuries that they were seeing, however. His had healed within the first half hour. No, what they were seeing was the injuries he had absorbed from Green Arrow.

Those taken from others tended to linger, he noticed. It had taken him nearly two weeks to heal from the deaths of his friends when his own death had taken but an hour. The injuries he had healed from around Happy Harbor had taken him close to two days. The injuries from Kid Flash had been the same way.

Healing others slowed him down.

He knew he wasn't exactly pretty at the moment. He was limping from the hole in his leg and the burns on his chest and face, but taking these on had enabled him to help GA. Robin felt a little guilty for not healing Ollie completely, but he couldn't take the chance that he would be out of commission for days on end. As it was, he could probably heal these up in a matter of a few hours with some sleep.

"Gordon," the commissioner's voice filled the cavernous room seconds after the first ring.

"Commissioner," Robin greeted. "I'm sorry. Joker got away from us in the smoke. No one else was hurt in the fire, were they?"

"No, no, everyone got out safely thanks to you and that Green Arrow character," Gordon said. There was a brief pause and Robin knew he had caught the young vigilante's words. "Who was injured in the fire? Are you okay?"

"No worries, Commissioner," Robin assured him. "I'm fine. Nothing that a little sleep won't cure. Green Arrow had a little smoke inhalation from being up on the second floor, but it's nothing to worry about," he lied. "Did you find any sign of Joker or clues to his next move?"

Gordon sighed. "I was about to ask you the same thing. No. Joker escaped in the chaos of the fire."

"I have some news, but it won't be conducive to a good night's rest," Robin told him, regretfully. He then began to tell Gordon about his theory about Joker's big plan.

". . . Are you sure?" Gordon's voice suddenly sounded twice as tired.

"Well . . . I'm not Batman," Robin said apologetically. "I could be mistaken . . . But I don't think I am."

"How long until Batman is available?"

Robin checked the chronometer again, although he didn't have to. He had been keeping track of the time religiously; just as desperate to have his partner back where he belonged. Joker would have been captured by now if Batman had been on the case, he was sure. Robin swallowed his guilt and shoved his inadequacies into a compartment in the back of his mind. He was all Gotham had at the moment, and the city needed him in top form; not questioning his every thought and move.

"Eighteen hours." Eighteen hours in which Joker could be doing anything . . .

"Eighteen," Gordon repeated, obviously thinking much along the same lines as Gotham's youngest vigilante. "That clown has been up and busy for the better part of the past twenty-five hours. He'll need to sleep, and so do we. We won't do the citizens of Gotham any good if we're so tired that the clues he leaves behind slip past us. Get some sleep, son."

It went against the grain, but Robin knew the wisdom in Gordon's words.

"Yes sir," he said. "You, too, Commissioner. Contact me if you hear anything at all. I'll do the same, sir."

"Sure," he answered tiredly. "Will do, Robin."

As the call disconnected, Robin turned to face the questions of the team.

"We saw the fire on the news," Kaldur told him. "What happened?"

Robin's shoulders slumped and he leaned back against the computer console. "It was a fiasco. Green Arrow refused to heed my warnings and underestimated the Joker. He shot a bunch of balloons that Joker had laced with white phosphorus. They exploded in his face and caught the mall on fire. Joker had several more balloons positioned throughout the lower level and the first explosion triggered the next one, and that one triggered the one after that."

Artemis stepped closer, concern on her face. They all saw the extent of the damage Robin wore; how much worse was Green Arrow?

"Green Arrow only suffered from some smoke inhalation?"

Robin dropped his gaze and shook his head. "No. I only lied to the commissioner because if he knew the truth of what happened, he would have forbidden me to go back after the Joker." His head came up; determination flared and temporarily concealed the exhaustion in the boy's expression. "Not that that would stop me. Batman won't be back for another eighteen hours. Joker is too dangerous to be left to his own devices for that length of time."

"Are those injuries from Green Arrow or do they belong to you," Kaldur asked.

Unconsciously, Robin placed a hand over his damaged thigh. "Green Arrow," he admitted, reluctantly. "I had to partially heal him just to get him out of the building. I feel bad that I didn't heal him completely, but I can't risk the amount of time necessary to recuperate from the full extent of his wounds."

"Later," he promised. "Later I will go back and finish his healing."

"How long will it take for you to heal this," Wally asked.

"I've noticed that it takes me longer to heal from injuries I absorb from others than it does from my own, but I didn't take all of GA's wounds, so maybe after a few hours' sleep," he said, telling them his theory on his healing ability.

"Then you better head to bed, my friend," Kaldur spoke softly. "Your commissioner seemed to think that Joker would need to rest as well."

"Yeah, I'll admit that I won't do anyone much good in this condition," Robin agreed. "I need someone to monitor communications and news outlets for any mention of Joker. I need to know immediately the next time he shows his clown face again."

"Let us worry about that for you," M'gann told him.

Robin nodded. He looked up at them then. They were his friends as well as his teammates. He hated to ask them, but Gotham needed more from him than he could give to it alone. What Gotham needed was Batman, but in the meantime, someone had to step in and fill the gap.

"I'm going to need your help," he told them.

Kaldur stepped forward and laid his hand on Robin's thin shoulder. "You have it," he promised.

"You don't even need to ask," Artemis declared.

"Whatever you need, Rob, we're here for you," Wally said next.

Conner had remained silent throughout, but he nodded at Robin with hard eyes. It was as good as any other declaration he had been given. The clone wasn't much for talking, but his loyalty was as solid as the rock they stood on.

"Thank you," he said to them. "And I want you to know now that I'm sorry."

"For what," M'gann asked; her head tilted as she looked at him curiously.

"For asking for your help in dealing with the Joker," he told her sadly. "I wish there was another way."

Conner finally spoke up. "Why not ask the League again?"

Robin's lips tightened in bitterness. "They don't take me seriously," he replied. "The only adult who actually listens to me is Batman, and unfortunately, he's not an option right now. I need people who will hear what I have to say and heed my warnings. Green Arrow is in the Watchtower's medical bay right now because he was incapable of doing that."

In the silence that met that pronouncement, Robin met their gazes. "Joker will be the hardest thing you've ever been up against. Even one mistake can lead to disastrous results; extra heavy on the ' _dis_ '. We haven't been together all that long, but I know I can trust you."

"Get some sleep, Robin," Kaldur urged. "We will keep watch for you in the meantime."

As Robin nodded and moved in the direction of his quarters, he knew they would do as they promised. He could only hope that they didn't have cause to regret it. In the interim, he could sleep. He could recuperate. He would be ready to head off Joker at the next juncture in this dangerous dance they had begun. He would be there with his team to stop the madman from whatever plan he had devised to destroy Gotham.

Meanwhile, he would pray hard for Batman's early return.

* * *

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	37. Pt 36 - Homework

**For those of you just popping in today (Friday 10-23-15), today is a TWO-FER! Make sure you don't miss the previous chapter called "Aftermath"!**

 **Hopefully there aren't too many mistakes. I just wanted to get it out to you fast. I'll go back and do some editing later after I get home from work. (Promise! I'm always editing stuff again, even long after I posted it. There are always room for improvement!)**

 **WARNING: Language . . .**

* * *

When he woke up, he was healed.

Dick smiled. That little laser beam was becoming worth its weight in gold. He reminded himself to thank Wally later. He turned on the light and checked the time. _Nine hours_? Nine hours had passed without someone waking him up! He forced himself to calm down. If Joker had reappeared, his team would have alerted him; Gordon would have tried to contact him, surely.

He got up and padded into the adjoining bathroom. A shower would finish waking him the rest of the way and clear his head. Ten minutes later, Dick was attaching his mask once more and Robin left the room.

Nine hours slept away meant that there were still nine hours left before Batman returned to earth. There were still nine hours left for Joker to implement his big plan, whatever that was.

He was rested; he was healed; it was time to get to work.

Making his way to the computer, Robin pulled up everything that had the keywords Joker and Gotham in it. Previous news reports flooded the screen outlining Joker's earlier rampage that had ended with the mall fire. He and Green Arrow were being praised as a hero, and that was only because of Gordon's support. People had died, but the stories from the surviving hostages had only backed Gordon's claim. There were still criticism from the reporters that the Joker was still at large in Gotham, and where the hell was the Batman?

Robin sat down and began going over what he knew already.

Joker escaped Arkham to revisit sites all over Southside Gotham that were all within a two block radius of his previous hideouts. He needed parts from Radio Shack to complete his plan. Robin still leaned toward his detonator theory. He used the computer to dial up Gordon.

"Gordon here." The commissioner sounded like he didn't follow his own advice.

"Don't tell me you haven't slept yet, Commissioner," Robin said in way of greeting.

"Robin. You're sounding better, at least," Gordon quipped. "Sorry, but I've been up all night interviewing the mall hostages."

"Isn't that what you have detectives for?"

"If it were anyone but the Joker out there . . ." Gordon's voice trailed off.

"Well, that is part of the reason I called . . ." Robin began.

"You have information?" Gordon cut him off.

"Nothing new yet, Commissioner, sorry. I was hoping to get an idea of what Joker had stolen from the Radio Shack," Robin told him. "It seemed pretty important to him."

"Ah, yes," Gordon said, distractedly. "I have the report right here somewhere. Give me a second . . . There were at least thirty hostages . . . Ah, here it is."

"Were they alright? There were children there, and one of them Joker had used to get her parents to collect what he wanted from the electronics store." Robin hadn't noticed any injuries at the time.

"Just a bit shaken up. Everyone was fine, thanks to you and that Arrow character," Gordon answered him. "It looks like eight two-way radios, some copper wiring, a soldering iron and solder, several resistors and capacitors, a large pack of triple A batteries, some LEDs . . . The couple couldn't remember everything on the list Joker had given them." Gordon paused. "It looks like you were right. These are all the makings of a detonator."

"Several detonators, by the sound of it," Robin replied. "Have there been no sightings of Joker? He isn't exactly inconspicuous. He obviously got out of the bolos, but his hands were cuffed in front of him and he must have suffered at least a few burns. He was right in the midst of all of the explosions."

"Amazingly enough, no one spotted the clown since," Gordon sighed.

"How about the car he had stolen from that last couple?"

"It had been surrounded by police vehicles. I doubt that he tried to go back to it," Gordon admitted.

Robin looked up to see Conner and Kaldur making their way over to him. He motioned for them to remain silent as he continued his discussion with Gordon.

"Any other vehicles missing," Robin asked.

He heard a shuffling of papers and mumbling, but couldn't make anything out.

"I'm sorry, Commissioner, but I didn't catch that," he said.

"Just as well, Robin," Gordon replied. "I would have been apologizing for it otherwise. Yes, yes, this just came in. Why the hell wasn't I notified immediately! Needless to say, some heads will be rolling within the hour!" That last sentence seemed to be directed at someone other than Robin.

"What is it?" Robin glanced up at the two members of his team as he waited.

"A report came back early this morning; a fire department vehicle was missing from the scene. Damn it! Uh, sorry, Robin."

He could hear Gordon's fist hitting something solid; probably his desk from the sound of it. "Don't fret it, Commissioner."

"How could Joker get through that mess and steal a goddamned fire truck . . .!" Gordon was yelling, but it sounded distant. Robin determined that he was talking to someone else. Rumbles were heard, but couldn't be interpreted.

"Commissioner Gordon," Robin attempted to gain his attention.

"Oh, right. It wasn't a fire engine, but one of the smaller vehicles. I'm just receiving a report on it now. The body of one of the firefighters was found about an hour ago, his coat, his boots and mask, and his helmet were all missing. The body is even now being transferred to the coroner's office. I'll have to get back to you on the time of death. That will give us some clue as to when Joker managed to leave the scene."

Robin frowned at this new information. That brought the body count up to sixteen. Guilt swamped him. The firefighters wouldn't have entered the building for a good twenty minutes after Robin and Green Arrow had left the scene. Joker had still been there! If Robin had stayed, he might have been able to apprehend the psychopathic clown before he had a chance to murder another innocent victim!

But then again, Green Arrow was in desperate need of medical treatment, even with Robin partially healing him. It seemed he didn't have a choice; either way someone would have died.

"Are there any security systems on the fire department vehicles that might help us locate the missing truck," Robin asked. "Lojac or something similar?"

"Unfortunately, no. Who would be crazy enough to steal a fire truck? Wait, don't answer that." Gordon said quickly. "I put an APB out on the truck. Although it's a smaller vehicle, it is still bright red and it would be noticeable if parked in an area without any active fires. What are you going to do, Robin?"

Robin ran his gloved hands over his face. He just woke up and felt tired already. No, that wasn't the truth. He felt great; just frustrated.

"I'm going back over our files on Joker's apprehensions during the course of the past few years. Maybe there is a place I missed; someplace he might return to," he finally said.

"You were right about those storage places," Gordon said. "It would be as good a place as any. I'll look into our own files, and send out patrol vehicles to search each of the areas."

"Warn them to not approach if they find it, and contact me," Robin instructed.

"Will do, Robin. And thank you," Gordon spoke softly. "With Batman gone, this could have turned out so much worse than it has."

There was a click as the commissioner hung up.

"You're welcome," Robin whispered into the silence.

He felt a little stunned. He had thought that he was failing miserably, but Gordon had spoken with sincerity. Maybe, he wasn't such a failure, after all.

* * *

"So, what's the plan," Kaldur asked now that the call had ended.

Robin jerked up out of his thoughts. _Right! Quit basking in the appreciation and get back to work. You're only as good as your last case_ , he thought, sarcastically.

"Homework," he announced, with fresh determination.

"Wha-at?"

Wally, Artemis, and M'gann entered the chamber.

"What are we talking about," Artemis asked.

"Joker is still on the loose," Robin stated the fact. "And if we have any hope of locating and capturing him, all of you need to get familiar with his ways. That was Green Arrow's mistake . . . And mine. I should have done for him what I'm going to do for you."

"And what's that, Robin," M'gann asked next.

"That homework I was talking about," he said, his hands playing over the computer's keyboard rapidly. "I'm downloading several files from the Bat computer on the last several times we have gone up against the Joker. I want you all to study them and learn everything you can about the Joker's M.O."

"And what are you going to do," Wally asked glumly.

"I have my own homework to do," he said. "I'm expanding my search of Joker's hideouts and locations at the time of his arrest. Maybe this big plan of his is even bigger than I thought. It could be that he has more places out there than we know about. He's holing up somewhere, and I'm going to find him!"

* * *

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	38. Pt 37 - A Starting Place

**Yesterday I posted two chapters . . . One in the early morning hours, and one around one in the afternoon. You may have only received one update alert for those, so double check to see that you haven't missed anything. This is the reason you should check into my profile every so often. I keep it updated with all the information of my recent activity.**

 **Warning: Not yet . . .**

* * *

Robin pulled up files from three years previous. It seemed impossible that Joker had been planning something for that length of time and not acted upon it before now. Joker escaped only once that year . . .

Robin frowned. Joker had been free for the longest length of time in August of 2012 than he had at any of the following escapes, but he had been the least active before his capture. In fact, the Joker had apparently gone to ground for three entire weeks; not being seen or heard from during that time. Only later, was he captured after planting a bomb in the subway.

He remembered that. Robin had been ten years old and it was the first time he had ever disarmed a ticking bomb. It was also the first time he had been allowed to accompany Batman while he tackled the Joker, although truthfully, Robin and Joker never even met during that incident. He had been busy with the bomb, and Batman had been busy handling the demented clown.

So . . . What had Joker been doing during those first three weeks? He couldn't imagine it taking the clown that long to plan the subway bombing. Robin began pulling up headlines of Gotham and its surrounding areas during that period. He found . . .

Nothing. Nothing. And more nothing . . .

Frustrated, Robin blew out his air and collapsed back in his chair.

"That's not an encouraging sound."

Robin glanced behind him to find Artemis leaning over his shoulder.

"I didn't even hear you enter," he mused.

"You were concentrating pretty hard," she smirked. "What are you doing?"

"I was curious if Joker started working on his big plan even earlier than I thought. I looked back over the files for 2012 and discovered that he had escaped Arkham in August that year and was missing for three weeks. I was trying to discover what he had been up to during that period of time," Robin explained. "But there was nothing happening that I can link the clown to."

"Wasn't that the year he tried to bomb a subway?"

"You remember that?" Robin looked surprised. Artemis had only been Green Arrow's protégé for a few months prior to joining the Young Justice team. Three years ago, she would have been only twelve or maybe thirteen.

Artemis frowned; staring at the monitor with narrowed eyes. "Hm, three years ago . . . I remember something else happened that year . . ." She trailed off, and quickly sat down in the chair next to him. Her hands flew over the keyboard. "I remember my dad saying something about a military train robbery. It was big news."

Robin swallowed. Military? Immediately his mind went to missiles and warheads . . .

"Here it is," Artemis sat back; giving Robin room to read the article she pulled up.

A shipment of chemical weapons had been stolen from the train that had been slated for destruction that year after the UN International Chemical Weapons Convention Treaty was signed in 2009. The train had been headed for Ft. Detrick near Frederick, Maryland.

"No," Robin was shaking his head. "I mean, I can see Joker taking an interest in chemical weapons, but Frederick, Maryland is two hundred miles south of Gotham. No way would he go so far from home."

"Are you sure? It would explain his disappearance," Artemis said. "The time it would take to plan the heist, perpetrate it, and then stash it someplace . . ."

"Someplace like Gotham City," Robin finished for her. "Crap! If you're right . . . Please, don't be right."

Artemis pulled her feet up into her chair and hugged her legs. "I would be very happy to be proven wrong in this case," she said, shivering as a cold chill ran down her back.

"There is no mention of anyone resembling the Joker anywhere in the article," Robin murmured.

"True, but then again, they never found the perps responsible for the robbery either . . . Nor the shipment of chemical weapons." She replied.

Robin glared at her. "What are you trying to do? Do you want it to have been Joker?"

"Of course not," she barked at him. "But it is something that happened during the time he was missing, and we would be remiss to not consider it."

Robin ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up on end. "Yeah, you're right, but I hate it! This ups the ante far more than I like."

"I'm with you there," she agreed.

"Okay," he said, taking a breath. "Okay. Let's say that Joker staged the robbery and got away with a shipment of chemical weapons. Does the article say what type of chemicals we're talking about here?"

"The article doesn't, but Dad had said something about VX." Artemis told him. "Do you know what VX is?"

Under his mask, Robin paled so much that Artemis laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey! Are you alright," she asked. "You're not going to faint on me, are you?"

His voice was a little shaky. "Y-Your dad was just guessing, wasn't he? I-I mean, he wouldn't have any information that might support that, would he?"

Artemis was silent for a moment. Then, as if she came to a decision, she nodded. "He might have known a little something about what he was talking about. How bad is this? I've never heard of VX before?"

Robin pulled up another screen and waved to it. He began reciting facts even as Artemis leaned in to read.

"VX is a nerve agent created by Great Britain in the 50's. It is the least volatile of all known nerve agents, but making it one of the most deadly because it can linger for long periods of time on objects even after the gas or liquid evaporate. It's heavier than air and will settle in low-lying areas. It interferes with nerve reception and can cause muscle spasms that contribute to muscular exhaustion and eventual suffocation. It can be mixed with water, although not as well as, say, Sarin."

"That sounds horrible," Artemis squeaked. "How much does it take to affect you?"

One drop, the size of a pinhead, will cause an immediate reaction in the area it touches. It can also cause irritation, burning sensation, and swelling of the eyes, mucous membranes, esophagus, and bronchiole." Robin recited, numbly.

Artemis stared at him. "Is there an antidote? A treatment? Anything to stop it?"

"No antidote, but there is treatment if you can get medical attention quickly enough."

"How quickly are we talking about here?"

"A few minutes . . . Maybe a half an hour if your exposure is minimal." Robin told her.

Artemis sank back in her chair, stunned. She covered her face with her hands. "Oh, this is bad. This is so-so bad!"

"Tell me about it," Robin muttered.

She glanced over at him suddenly; panic in her voice now as well as her eyes. "Can't we turn this over to the League? This sounds right up their alley. Robin, this is bigger than the six of us!"

Robin shook his head bitterly. "The only ones I might trust this to would be Batman or Superman . . . Maybe Green Lantern. But the only one of those three who has any experience with the Joker is . . ."

"Batman." Artemis finished.

"And he won't be back for another . . ." Robin looked at his chronometer again, just to verify what he already knew. "Seven hours."

"Maybe Joker won't try anything until he returns," she said, hopefully.

"Do you want to risk the lives of the people in Gotham City on that chance," he asked.

"Maybe I was wrong," she whispered. "Maybe Joker didn't have anything to do with that robbery."

"We can't take the chance that he didn't."

Artemis looked at Robin; fear stark in her eyes. "What are the chances that Joker wouldn't actually use it?"

"It would be easier to calculate the odds that he would," Robin stated. "One hundred percent." He met her eyes. "Joker **_wants_ ** to watch the world burn."

* * *

"We still have to find him," Robin said, pulling the previous Joker file back up. His eyes narrowed behind his white lenses as he located the part that gave the location of the Joker's hideout.

"He was apprehended at the subway station, but Batman found clues that led him back to the industrial complex owned by the Simco Pharmaceutical Company. The company had planned the demolition and reconstruction of the complex to house new laboratories and manufacturing plant, but the company changed its mind at the last minute. It bought new land elsewhere for building and abandoned this place."

"So then, you're thinking he found someplace within a few blocks of the abandoned complex to stash the chemicals?" Artemis guessed.

"Not necessarily," Robin said. He typed away on the keyboard and blueprints were pulled up on another screen. "The complex housed four buildings. The Joker's hideout was found here," he pointed to one of the laboratories on the map.

"Once his hideout was located, only a rudimentary search was conducted of the surrounding buildings. The complex was large enough that it is entirely possible that he could have hidden the shipment right here, and the search blew right past it," Robin told her as he ran through the blueprints, one after another. "No one was looking for a shipment of chemical weapons, after all."

Artemis scoffed. "How could you just look over an entire shipment of chemical weapons without noticing it? It doesn't matter that they weren't looking for it. They would have discovered it had it been there."

"Not if they didn't know where to look." Robin brought one of the blueprints of one of the other lab buildings back onto the screen and enlarged it. "Look here," he said, pointing to the ground floor. "This indicates an elevator shaft."

Artemis frowned. "So what? The building is three stories tall."

Robin's fingers flew, and the blueprints of the next two levels of the same building were displayed. "And yet, in the same location on the second and third floors there is no indication of an elevator shaft anywhere . . . Only stairs."

Artemis sat up suddenly. "A basement level?" Robin nodded, but she scowled. "But there are no blueprints indicating this building has a basement."

"If you wanted to conceal a secret basement, would you file the blueprints with the city," he asked her.

"But that's illegal, isn't it?"

Robin smiled. "Why yes! Yes, it is."

"And you think that Joker found the basement," Artemis asked. "But why didn't the authorities?"

"They had already found what they were looking for," Robin said, simply. "The search throughout the complex was merely a formality. I suspect that the elevator is disguised; otherwise, the building inspectors would have noted it a long time ago."

"Well, the blueprint says there is a shaft there . . ."

"But if the company and the builders decided that an elevator supposedly wasn't needed at the last minute, they would have closed it off. I'm certain that with little effort I will find a notation on here somewhere from the architect indicating just that," Robin smirked.

"So, we have a starting place," she asked.

"We have a starting place," Robin confirmed. "Get the others."

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **I wonder if I'll be investigated by the FBI because of all my recent research lately . . . I had initially planned for the Joker to use a NNEMP (a Non-Nuclear Electro-Magnetic Pulse bomb), but discovered that it wouldn't do the kind of damage that I wanted. For a wide-spreading EMP, you need a nuclear warhead. That's already been done (refer to Injustice: Gods Among Us - Year One). I prefer to be a little more original, although it's likely that someone's written something along these lines before. It took me a while to choose VX.**

 **I used a little artistic license in changing the date of the UN's International Chemical Weapons Convention Treaty. That was a real treaty that was actually signed in 1994, and the chemical weapons stored in the countries that signed this treaty were slated for destruction by 1997. For the sake of the story, I changed the dates to 2009 and 2012.**

 **Look at that! You've learned something new! Now you can honestly tell your parents and teachers that you were studying history and political science instead of just reading regular old fan fiction . . . ;D**

 **Oh, and I have no idea if Simco is a real company or not . . . Pharmaceuticals, not withstanding.**


	39. Pt 38 - Party Favors

**This one is a little longer that the others.**

 **Warning: Some language . . .**

* * *

The sun was sinking by the time the team arrived, but it was still disturbingly light out for one night-flying bird. Robin still hadn't been able to talk to Batman directly, but sent out another message; uploading the most current information they had and the conclusions he had drawn.

The plea he had tacked on the end of it was pitiful, but Robin couldn't help it. He felt out of his depth with Joker; never having gone up against the mad clown alone before. Oh, he had run afoul the villain while by himself, but Batman hadn't been far behind; the fate of the city hadn't been resting on Robin's thin shoulders . . . The lives of his teammates hadn't been depending upon him back then!

"Remember," he couldn't help but remind them once more, "Joker sets traps. What seems harmless or ridiculous to you will likely be the thing that will get you killed."

Kid Flash groaned. "We _get_ it! Mad clown equals crazy schemes . . ."

Robin spun around and slammed his hand into Wally's chest. The speedster stumbled back surprised.

" _Ow_! What gives? Why'd you do that," he complained.

" _That_ is exactly the kind of attitude that Green Arrow had going in and look where that got him! He'll be scarred for life if I don't go back and finish healing him after this! Is that where you want to be at the end of this, KF," Robin snapped.

"You can always heal us," Wally smirked.

Robin growled. "Healing _hurts_ , Wally," he told him quietly. "And if we fail, what happens to Gotham? Do you really think I could hope to heal an entire city?"

Wally's mouth tightened, but he didn't say anything. Maybe he got it and maybe he didn't.

Please, _Please_ , get it, Robin begged silently.

He didn't know if there a limit to how long was too long before he couldn't bring someone back. But even if there wasn't an outer limit to his ability, and he could heal KF if the speedster screwed up and got himself and the others killed, Robin didn't think he could stand to see his friends die like that again.

Then suddenly, _he_ got it . . . This was what Bruce had been talking about! The pain and fear of seeing him die was too much. That Robin would come back from it didn't detract from grief that comes from holding your loved one's dead body in your arms; wondering if _this_ time it for real. Bruce continued to fear that the laser's effects were temporary.

Robin blinked. He didn't really dwell on that theory. It had been a couple of months already, and his healing ability hadn't failed him yet, but if he wanted to not wake up buried alive again, it would probably be a good thing if he at least pretended that death was still something permanent.

Failure was not an option! It had taken him two weeks to heal from the deaths of four friends. What would a thousand deaths do to him? Even if he couldn't die permanently, for all intents and purposes, he would be dead to those who loved him if it took him eighty years to come back from that.

"SB, can you see the fire department's utility vehicle here," Robin asked, attempting to stop his thoughts and get his mind back on the mission.

Superboy silently scanned the complex.

"The big building has lead in its structure," he said. "I can't see . . . Wait! There! I see it!" He pointed. "Looks like you were right, Robin. Joker's been holing up here."

This was both good news and bad. They found the clown, but did this mean he was right in his other theories, too? God, he hoped not . . .

"We need to find out if Joker's in that building," he determined.

"I can do a quick run through," Kid Flash offered. "He'd never even see me."

 _See_? Robin never gave the idea of a security system a thought. The place had been abandoned for the past decade. He glanced around warily, but nothing jumped right out at him. The company wouldn't have just left behind valuable equipment like the cameras, would they? Even if Joker could steal the parts, was he capable of setting up a system; even a small one?

"No," he shook his head. "Miss Martian should do it while in camo mode."

M'gann disappeared. Wally looked disappointed, but Robin had other plans for him.

"Kid Flash, I need you to run through the complex and see if any of the buildings are set up with cameras. You'll need to do it fast enough that any camera there wouldn't pick you up."

Wally grinned. He gave Robin a half-salute with two fingers. "You got it, boss man!" He took off.

Robin was startled. Was he the leader? He had been giving orders ever since this mess began, and didn't give it a thought. He glanced at Aqualad.

"Uh, sorry, Kaldur, if I stepped on your toes," he started.

Aqualad waved his apology away. "This is your town, Robin, and Joker is a Gotham villain. I have only heard vague stories about him before you gave us those files to read. It is better for you to lead us in this case. I am not as familiar with Joker as you are, and a mistake at this point would be deadly."

Robin nodded. It made sense, but the weight on his shoulders increased by tenfold. A breeze ruffled his hair and made his cape swirl around him as Kid Flash reappeared in front of them.

"No cameras that I could see," he reported. "But there was a light on inside of one of the lab buildings."

M'gann came out of camo-mode as Wally finished his report. "The truck was parked inside the big building, just as Superboy said. There were footprints all around, but no other sign of life."

"Ten to one that he's in the building with the hidden basement," Artemis said.

"Twenty to one says you're right," Robin replied. "Let's move out."

* * *

The building with the light on in it was the one that the blueprints indicated had the secret subfloor. There were no signs of life in it either. Robin sent M'gann in again, camouflaged, to check it for people or traps.

"It appears to be deserted, Robin," she told him.

"Is it possible that Joker might already be acting on his plan," Kaldur asked.

"Oh, man! I hope not," Wally whined. "That would be so bad!"

Robin checked his chronometer again. "He's had over twelve hours, so it's possible, yes. We need to find the entrance to the basement and check it for the stolen VX shipment. There's a possibility that he's booby-trapped some of the entrances, so we need to find another way in."

"I didn't see any traps," M'gann said. "I would have mentioned them."

"I know, Miss M, but the Joker is as good sometimes with camouflage as you are."

"And the other times," Artemis asked.

"Other times he sets them out with a big, red bow on top," Robin muttered, and shot a grapple off. "I'm going high. Be careful! Stay in contact with one another, go in in groups of two, and we'll meet inside on the main floor near the stairs. M'gann, you're with me."

"I'll go in with Kaldur," Artemis said.

Wally looked up at Superboy. "I guess that leaves you and me, big guy!"

Superboy grunted, but followed Kid Flash as he moved off around to the opposite side of the building.

* * *

Amazingly enough, all six of them made it to the stairwell without incident. Robin was suddenly second-guessing himself. Was he wrong? The truck was hidden on the property, but that didn't mean that Joker had chosen this particular building to hide in. Maybe he never found the basement. Maybe he never masterminded the VX chemical heist. Maybe Joker was holed up in another building here or just ditched the truck and moved on.

Maybe this was all just a wild goose chase . . .

"Okay, so far, so good," Artemis said. "No alarms have been tripped."

"Other than the light being on, there looks to be no sign of life here," Aqualad noted, looking about.

"What's our next move, boss," Kid Flash asked, rubbing his hands together. He looked a little blurry and Robin realized that Wally was vibrating with excitement.

"We need to find the entrance to the basement," he said. "It will be hidden and won't be easy to locate, or else it would have been discovered years ago by the city's building inspectors. Superboy, can you see anything?"

Superboy scanned the area to the left; his frown growing darker. "There is too much lead in the infrastructure," he fumed. "It's making my vision blurry. I can't tell."

"Are you sure that there _is_ a hidden basement," Aqualad asked. "You said the blueprints contained a note that the plan for the elevator was discontinued. It is possible that is exactly what happened and the shaft you are searching for doesn't exist."

Robin's mouth tightened at Kaldur's line of questioning. He was only playing devil's advocate, but heaped as it was on Robin's own self-doubt, it was unwelcome at the moment.

"It's here," he stated with a conviction he didn't quite feel.

He needed to contact Gordon on the off-chance that Batman couldn't get here in time, but didn't want to spill his theory to the commissioner until he had confirmed it. No reason to announce his incompetence to any more people if it weren't necessary. It was already bad enough that he had sent the communication to Batman without absolute proof . . .

"It's here," Artemis repeated his assurance. "We just need to find it."

"Spread out, but be careful," Robin warned.

As the team dispersed within a few yards of one another to look for a hidden elevator or some kind of hidden switch, Robin centered his attention on the area next to the stairwell. This was where the elevator shaft had been marked on the blueprints but there was nothing but tiled flooring. He walked across it, wondering if he was off by a few feet.

"Quiet!" Superboy called out.

Everyone froze and looked at him. Conner cocked his head to one side as if he were listening to something that no one else could hear. Likely as not, he was.

"What is it, Superboy," Robin asked. "What do you hear?"

"Laughing . . ."

That was all he said, when suddenly all the lights came on and popping noises sounded all around them. From overhead confetti and streamers began raining down onto them, thickly. Their vision of the surrounding area was almost completely obscured by the falling pieces of colored paper.

"Watch out," Robin yelled.

"It looks as if we found him," KF commented.

"Are you kidding me," Superboy snarked, catching a pink and yellow streamer that fell past his face. "Cliché much?"

The team formed a circle and backed up, facing outward against their unseen foe; converging onto the area where Robin still stood. Artemis had an arrow notched and moved her bow from side to side, searching for a target. Aqualad had unsheathed his water-bearers.

"Can you see anything?" The elder teen asked.

Kid Flash held out his hand and caught the confetti. He rubbed it gently between his fingers. "This is just paper, guys," he exclaimed. "Nothing dangerous here."

"It's not dangerous – _yet_ ," Robin reminded them.

Colored bits of paper stuck to their hair and streamers were dangling off of their shoulders. Robin batted the pieces off. The laughter grew louder until everyone could hear it now.

"Where is it coming from," Artemis asked.

"Superboy, can you see anything?" Aqualad narrowed his eyes, but they were still adjusting to the change in lighting as the confetti continued to fall over and around them.

The Kryptonian pointed at the ceiling. "Speakers," he announced.

There were several amplifiers throughout the area as well as little tubes from which jetted what seemed to be a mountain of confetti. The little bits of paper and streamers were beginning to pile up. The team backed up more, until they were standing in a circle just inches apart from one another.

Artemis coughed. "I think I just choked on some of this stuff," she complained.

"I don't like this," M'gann muttered. "It should seem festive, but it feels wrong somehow."

Robin looked down at their feet. The flying paper was getting deeper. It was almost ankle-deep now. M'gann was right.

"It's a trap," he called out suddenly. "Get out!"

As soon as he spoke, the sprinkler system went on in the distance and liquid sprayed outward in every direction. Then the sprinklers came on closer to their position, still spraying outward; away from them.

"We're being herded," Superboy exclaimed.

"What is that smell," Artemis wondered aloud.

Realization dawned almost before she finished speaking. Robin wrinkled his nose.

"Gasoline," he yelped.

Sparks showered down from the ceiling next and the dampened confetti went up like tinder. The fire roared; encircling the teens. They huddled closer together. Black smoke rose up; choking them.

Artemis shot an arrow into the mess; releasing a foaming compound that smothered the flame, but it was covered by more burning confetti in seconds. The path was blocked almost as soon as it was formed.

"Ah, shit!" Kid Flash groaned. "I _hate_ this clown!"

"That makes two of us," Superboy growled.

"Miss M," Robin pulled her into the middle of the huddle, away from the flames. "The stairwell!" He pointed.

Superboy blew out a super breath; trying to clear a path and suffocate the fire, but the confetti that wasn't drenched in fuel flew up into the air instead. The little burning embers now became threats; trying to catch fire to their hair and clothing. They batted at the sparks that landed on their hair and each other.

"I guess that leaves me out," KF muttered. His try would have merely created a whirlwind of flames.

Aqualad moved forward; using his water-bearers in an attempt to drown the flames that blocked their way.

It worked! But before anyone could take more than a step, an ominous clanking noise sounded, and suddenly the floor beneath the remaining teens moved. They were sinking! They had found the elevator! Aqualad turned and jumped down onto the retreating floor with them.

They were being drawn down below the smoke and fire. It should have made them feel safer, but Robin felt trapped. He wanted to tell the team to run, but the threat to the city was too great for them to abandon the fight now. Unfortunately, the element of surprise had gone to the clown. It was obvious that he knew they were here; probably from the start. They would just have to stay alert and prepare for the unexpected.

They waited anxiously as the walls rose up around them. It felt like they were being lowered into the pits of hell, and Robin worried about what else the mad clown had in store for them. He wouldn't have rescued them from their fate unless he had something worse waiting for them.

At their feet, an opening appeared on one side. Robin palmed several batarangs and stepped to the front of the group. Whatever was out there, he needed to be ready to meet it.

The room was darker compared to the bright lights and flames above. It took a second for their eyes to adjust to the gloom. The low chuckling was different from the raucous cackling that had been piped in through speakers above. It was also live . . .

Joker stepped out of the shadows; grinning. "Welcome to the party, kiddos," he said.

His voice was gruff, like someone sandpapered the inside of his throat; not the kind of sound one would expect to hear from a clown. Robin saw the burn on the side of his face from where Joker had been struck by his own white phosphorus the previous evening. It was a long, narrow strip that had burrowed its way down the length of his chalky face; barely missing his eye and traveled down to his jawline.

Was that his jawbone that glistened in the low lighting?

Joker ran a finger down the gouge. "Do you like it, birdbrain," he asked. "It's new. Think it will leave a mark?" Despite the painful wound, Joker laughed . . . That deep, disturbing chuckle.

"Oh my God! How creepy is that," Kid Flash gasped.

"How did you like the party favors," the clown asked. "Weren't they just to _die_ for?"

Robin's mouth was dry, and he had to work up some spit just to speak. Normally, he wouldn't be facing Joker without Batman. Although he was surrounded by super-powered teens; friends he would trust with his life, the Joker always scared him, and now wasn't any different.

He grew up with clowns, but Joker wasn't anything like those that had been a part of his circus family. Those clowns had been gentle and dedicated to making the audience laugh; determined to send people home smiling. This clown's objective was to send people to the morgue; the grotesque grins on their faces were nothing but a sick parody, a painful reminder that the Joker had laughed as you died.

In Robin's mind, Scarecrow had nothing on the Joker.

"It's over, Joker," he croaked, in false bravado. "You lose."

"Oh, Robbie," Joker's smiled dimmed slightly as his eyes searched the group for the one he was waiting for. "Still no Batman? What did you do to piss the Bat off so much he left you to deal with me alone?"

"He is not alone, Joker," Aqualad moved up beside the smaller boy as Superboy stepped up on Robin's other side.

"Yes. I can see that," the mad clown remarked dryly. "But this party was by invitation only."

Joker pulled a hand out of his pocket; making the teens flinch in reaction. The clown's responding giggles raised the hair on the back of their necks. They thought his hand was empty. It took a second to see the tiny remote.

"Watch out," Superboy called out. He was the first to see it.

The electricity was great enough to burn a hole through the insulating soles of the teens' shoes. They screamed as it jolted through their bodies like a blade. It was only seconds, but when the voltage was cut off, all of them collapsed unconscious in a smoking heap.

"Surprise," Joker smirked.

* * *

Movement caught the clown's eye as he started to turn away. He glanced around to see one of the teens moving; the dark one . . . With the short, white hair.

"Surprise," the teen snarled, as he stood up.

He snapped his arms and swords appeared in his hands. They didn't glisten like metal, however.

Curious.

The dark designs that Joker had assumed were tattoos began to glow white-hot. He tilted his head in thought.

How odd, that . . .

"This ends now," the teen growled angrily. He ran at him.

Joker tugged something from another pocket and put it to his lips.

* _Phwtt_ *

The teen jerked and stumbled and eventually fell to his knees. The skinny dart could be seen easily at this close range jutting from the front of his neck. His odd, pale-green eyes dilated as the drug rapidly permeated his system, and then, as they rolled back into his head, Joker reached out with one finger and pushed him over.

The boy landed at his feet with a thunk.

He had gotten quite close before the drug put him down. Joker toed his unconscious body.

 _He should be dead_ , the clown thought. _This one is stronger than the others_.

His eyes narrowed and he leaned closer to the teen. _Are those_ . . .? Joker brightened suddenly. _They are_! The teen had gills!

"How marvelous!"

It also made him curious as to the other children that birdboy had brought with him. Joker moved toward the group and looked them over.

"A green girl," he remarked. "Where have I heard of a green-skinned hero before?"

He toed over the large, hulking boy and took note of the emblem emblazoned on his black t-shirt. The boy groaned, but didn't wake up. "Hm, this one might become a problem," he said to himself. "But I think I might have something that might be of use containing him."

The ginger with the gaudy tights and the red lightning bolt on his chest was reminiscent of another hero that had made the news. Joker pursed his lips in thought.

He had discovered this wonderful, little hidey-hole four years ago. He had always been careful to keep it his own little secret. It gave him time to set up his surprises! He used it to store his most valuable treasures and toys, but kept his other less important party favors elsewhere for the authorities to find as a distraction. Batman came close to finding it three years before, but didn't look closely enough.

And that would be his biggest mistake.

Joker's eyebrows drew down together as he looked at Robin. This one was clever. Much too clever.

Well, whether or not the Bat was upset with his birdie, Joker knew that he would be put out if anything happened to him. Joker's smile grew bigger as he thought of plucking his little pigeon's tail feathers.

His plans were complete. It was only a waiting game now. Eventually the Bat would come and the true game would begin. In the meantime, Joker would distract himself by entertaining his uninvited guests.

Oh yes, the evening was looking up after all . . .

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **Trouble ahead . . . Hm, most definitely.**

 **10 . . .9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . .**

 **Oh, and in answer to Nightwingsass' (great name, btw) question about Batman's knowledge of current events - Next chapter should answer that.**


	40. Pt 39 - Message Received

**Hopefully this will answer some of your questions and explain why Robin couldn't get a message to or from Batman. The time between the transmission being sent and received is approximate. I'm just not that good at math. But considering that it takes a message 18 minutes to go from earth to Mars, and then add to that the distance between Mars and the asteroid belt beyond it, and their position in relationship to individual orbits around the sun . . . Well, yeah, you get the picture. I try to be authentic, but this is fiction, after all, and I'm not getting paid to do the extra research for accuracy . . . (I'm not even going to get into the speed this ship would have to attain to make this realistic either. It would take a spacecraft 3 months to travel from earth to Mars, if that tells you anything.)**

 ***Pay attention as I flip from narration to Batman's thoughts to Robin's message . . . I don't believe you should have any trouble, but just in case, I wanted to give you a head's up.***

 **Warning: Language . . .**

* * *

"Can't this ship go any faster?"

Wonder Woman looked at him in sympathy. "We are already going at our top speed. We should be arriving two hours earlier than planned. You're just lucky that we were done planting those explosives and already headed home when you received Robin's message."

"I received the message that Joker escaped Arkham hours after it was sent. I don't even know if he received my message in return. Tell me how that is lucky," Batman asked her.

Normally, the communication drag would only be about an hour, but that required a direct line of sight between the transmitter and receiver. Without the aid of a satellite to bounce and augment the signal, they might miss the message altogether.

The problem was more than distance and the fact that Mars sat between them. Several of the asteroids also assisted in blocking any messages coming through. It was only after they had left the asteroids behind and rounded Mars that they were able to intercept the message, and even then it wasn't the original. Robin had apparently realized the problem and arranged to send out the message on an automated cyclical transmission; broadcasting every hour in hopes that they would eventually receive it.

It was the not knowing that was dangerously weakening his patience. What was happening in Gotham at this moment?

"I thought you said that Robin went to the League for assistance," J'onn commented. "Surely he would be safe enough with help."

"Green Arrow," Batman growled. "They sent him Green Arrow."

"And how is that worse than Robin going after the Joker by himself," J'onn said calmly.

Batman kept silent rather than answer in a way that would create an atmosphere of disapproval. Not that he cared, but he didn't want to spend the next several hours listening to his teammates attempt to change his opinion of Green Arrow's competence . . . or lack thereof.

The idea that Robin would tackle the Joker alone sent ice coursing down his spine. But would Oliver Queen be able to watch Robin's back and keep his boy safe? Arrow had no experience with the type of insanity that seemed to plague Batman's arch-nemesis. The two would have to rely on Robin's own limited experience. Would Queen's arrogance prevent him from heeding the boy?

The theory that Joker was up to something big was supported by the evidence that Robin had sent along in the message. The clown was following a path of his previous haunts; collecting unknown items he had secretly stored there. That the boy had found the pattern was impressive considering that all the storage areas were located a few blocks from the original Joker hideout.

"There is another message coming through," J'onn said. "A new one."

 _Robin_. He knew this without saying. The boy was giving him his reports. How long ago had this one been sent, he couldn't help wondering. Although the likelihood that his and Green Arrow's confrontation ended with the Joker's capture were slim, Batman prayed for good news.

It wasn't.

"Batman. Green Arrow and I confronted Joker in a suburban mall. Although we got the hostages out without minimal casualties, Joker had laced batches of balloons with white phosphorus. Green Arrow unwittingly burst some of these and the Joker escaped in the aftermath."

 _Damn it_!

"I'm okay, but Green Arrow was injured. He is recuperating on the Watchtower even now. I did discover that Joker was at the mall to steal some components from Radio Shack."

 _A detonator_.

"It looks like the parts for the making of several detonators." Robin's voice confirmed. "I went back to research if maybe Joker's plan went further back than two years, and found that three years ago when he set that subway bomb, he had been quiet for three weeks. A little more research has led me to believe that during those weeks that Joker had orchestrated a heist from a military train somewhere in Maryland."

 _Maryland_? That is far outside of any normal Joker territory. What might have lured the clown so far from home?

"The shipment of the chemical weapon, VX, disappeared in that robbery."

 _VX_? _No . . . God damn that bastard clown_!

Batman took a careful breath and released it slowly through his nose. He couldn't lose it now. Maybe Robin was wrong. Although a shipment like that would be tempting, it was far from Joker's usual hunting ground. And it seemed impossible that the clown could have resisted using such a weapon for so long.

"Looking back at the subway bombing, I saw that you tracked down Joker's hideout."

The old Simco pharmaceutical plant . . . Nothing had been found there.

"There were several buildings in that complex. I pulled up the blueprints and discovered indication of an elevator shaft in one of the other buildings there that had been noted by the contractor as being abandoned during construction. I believe that the shaft went to a previously undisclosed basement in the facility."

 _How could I have missed that_? Irritation at himself and pride in Robin's discovery warred within him.

"If I am right," Robin paused slightly. "It could be the site where Joker stored the VX . . . _If_ he was the one who stole it. It is a lot of ifs, but it is worth checking out. _If_ VX is involved, it is too important to not check it out."

 _Not by yourself_ . . .

"I'm taking the team with me. They take me seriously enough that maybe, between the six of us, we can take Joker down this time. It-it could be just a wild goose chase. We might find nothing, but we _have_ to look."

 _The Team_ . . . _Not the League_. Apparently, his team-up with Green Arrow didn't pan out. Not enough that Robin was willing to trust the League for a second time. He did say that Arrow was injured. _I'm okay_ , he had said, but it seemed unlikely that Robin made it out of that the mall unscathed. _His healing factor must have entered into it_.

"Please, hurry, Batman. This . . . This is bigger than me. I need your help."

Batman could detect, even through the static of the transmission, the fear and barely controlled panic in Robin's voice. He glanced at Wonder Woman.

"You don't have to say anything," she told him. "I think I might be able to coax a little more power to the thrusters if I take certain other systems offline."

"Do it," Batman growled.

An icy fist had developed in his gut. His instincts were screaming at him to hurry, hurry, hurry. Martian Manhunter nodded his agreement.

"The rest of the trip is going to be very uncomfortable, gentlemen. I suggest you suit up," Wonder Woman said as she began entering the necessary commands.

Batman and the Manhunter moved toward the back of the ship where the environmental suits were kept. They were nearly finished when Diana came back to don her own. She paused only to lay a hand on Batman's shoulder.

"We've shaved another forty-five minutes off of our time," she told him. "It's the best we can do without Superman or Green Lantern's assistance."

Batman nodded his thanks and understanding. He didn't fail to note the irony of the situation; that the one time he needed the big, blue Boy Scout or that idiot, Jordan, would be the one time neither of them were around. And as impressed as he was with Dick's detective work on this, Bruce couldn't help hoping that this time the boy was wrong.

 _I'm on my way, Dick_ , he thought grimly. _Just hang on_.

* * *

 **. . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . .**

 **REACTIONS? Please, please, pretty please?**

 **Yes, Wonder Woman is taking the ship's life support systems offline in order to coax a bit more speed out of their already ridiculously-fast ship. Hence the environmental suits. Good going, Nightwingsass for making the connection.**

 ***Hey! Do you guys read any of the Author's Notes I tack on here or at the top? Just curious, you understand. I try to add interesting and pertinent facts for you in relation to the story (like the medical poison that Robin was studying for Batman's test for instance, and the time lag in relation to distance up top). Do you like this or do you not care one way or the other?***


	41. Pt 40 - The Big Catch

**Nightwingsass: I added a confirmation to one of your hypothesis at the end of the last chapter. You can go back to check it out. ;D**

 **WARNINGS: Some Language; Disturbing and Graphic Images . . .**

* * *

Robin woke up reluctantly. His entire body was burning from the inside out. The moan escaped him without his permission. Even as he returned to consciousness, he remembered his training. But the pain was sharp, almost beyond whelming. He bit down on his lip in order to prevent any other stray sounds from escaping, but even as he did this, the pain was slipping away . . . almost as if it had never been.

Had he given himself away to the enemy?

 _Joker_ . . .

The memory of the clown jerked Robin awake faster than a bucket of ice water. His eyes snapped open and he held his breath; waiting. No laughter greeted him.

No laughter but a whisper.

"Robin."

Robin turned his head toward the sound until he found its source. Superboy . . .

The clone was chained in an adjoining cell, as was M'gann who Robin could see laying just beyond the young Kryptonian. Robin frowned as his eyes took in more information, such as the collar around Conner's neck. His mind supplied the name: A neural collar . . . It would neutralize Superboy's powers. They had been developed to dampen the powers of supervillains while they were incarcerated. How had Joker gotten ahold of one of those? Arkham Asylum didn't house many supervillains, after all.

That explained why Superboy was sitting in a cell in the first place.

"Are you alright," Robin asked as he sat up. Chains clinked as he moved. Apparently he, too, was bound and in a cell.

"Yeah," the clone muttered, low and angry. "Except for the neural collar, I'm fine. You're the first to wake up."

Robin blinked and glanced around him. He was sharing a cell with Kid Flash and Artemis. Concerned, he stretched out a hand to touch them.

"Their heartbeats are strong," Superboy told him. "They won't be happy when they wake up, but I think they should be alright."

Robin preferred to make certain of that. His hand wouldn't quite reach his friend, but his foot could just touch the other boy's ankle. It was muted, but he could feel Wally's pain even through his unconsciousness. His body was healing him rapidly, but Robin could help it along. It was tougher through the boots, but with concentration, Robin began drawing the pain and injury out of his friend's body.

Robin sucked in his breath with a hiss, but very quickly, Kid Flash began to rouse.

"Ow," Wally whined, rubbing his head. The rattle of the chains on his wrists seemed to startle him, but almost immediately clarity of his situation entered his eyes. He sat up and looked around. "Rob?"

Robin drew his leg back and up; wrapping his arms around them as he attempted to force his body to heal faster. He closed his eyes, panting.

"He healed you," Superboy could be heard explaining.

"What happened?" KF asked, then grimaced. "Besides us getting ourselves captured."

"Best I can tell, Joker had the elevator floor electrified," Superboy told him. "It was a strong jolt. It knocked me unconscious with the rest of you long enough for him to neutralize mine and M'gann's powers." He indicated the collar with a look of disgust.

Kid Flash stretched out to touch Artemis. His fingers couldn't reach her without her help, but she was unconscious and turned away from him. "Artie? Can you hear me? Wake up!"

"KF?" Robin's voice was stronger. "You don't have a neural collar on. Can you vibrate out of your chains?"

The speedster sighed. "I don't know. I've never been able to manage it before."

"You have to try," Robin told him. "We have to get out of here!"

"Artemis is hurt," he said instead of answering.

"So is M'gann," Superboy added. "Electrical burns, I think."

Robin frowned and looked around again. Obviously, the pharmaceutical company did a little under the board animal testing of their products. There were cells across the aisle from theirs, but they were empty.

"Where's Aqualad," he asked, suddenly alarmed.

"I don't know," Superboy shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "He wasn't here when I woke up."

"Oh, no," Robin moaned as he worried over the Atlantian's absence. "This is so not asterous."

Kid Flash's chains rattled, drawing Robin's attention. But when he looked, Wally was clamping a hand over his gushing nose. He was still wearing his chains.

"Damn it," Wally growled. "It's not working! I'm sorry."

Robin was missing his gloves and utility belt. Joker already had his number from his many encounters with the Dynamic Duo. But the Clown Prince of Gotham had never heard of Green Arrow before yesterday, so it was unlikely that he knew anything about Artemis. Maybe she had something of use hidden in her uniform like Robin often did.

 _A set of lockpicks would certainly come in handy right about now_ , he thought. There was no way Robin could reach her, however.

"Kid, you can touch Artemis, right?"

Kid Flash looked at him as he pinched his nose. "No," he admitted. "I hope she's alright."

"I was kind of hoping she might have a set of lockpicks hidden on her somewhere," Robin said.

Kid Flash looked over at the skintight outfit she wore worriedly. "And you wanted me to do what? If she came to while I was searching her, she'd kill me!"

"Like Joker doesn't plan to do just that," Robin snapped.

"It doesn't matter. I can't reach her. If she would just wake up," KF complained. "What about contacting the Justice League? They'd come if we alerted them."

"If I didn't have this neural collar on, we wouldn't need the League's help." Superboy grumbled.

"You didn't have the collar on before and Joker still got the slip on us," Robin said.

"What are you trying to say?" Superboy glared at the young hero through the bars.

Wally stared at Robin. "Are you _trying_ to make Supey angry? What good is that going to do?"

"No, I wasn't trying to make him angry," Robin muttered; rubbing his temples. "I'm trying to say that Joker spent years setting this place up. Your strength might not be the deciding factor here."

"I could get us out of these cells if I could get the collar off," Conner grumbled. As it was he couldn't even check on M'gann. He looked at her over his shoulder. Her heartbeat was strong but she was so still . . .

"We need to think of a way out of this before Joker returns, or worse, before he decides to set off those bombs carrying the VX agent! Focusing on things that we can't change isn't helping our situation." Robin reminded him.

Robin looked down at the cuffs on his hands. They were tight enough to keep him in place, but they weren't all that snug. They had been made to hold someone larger than him. Without his gloves, his wrists were even smaller. He tried again to squeeze his hand through the opening. The metal abraded his skin, but the scratches and cuts healed almost immediately.

Maybe . . . Robin frowned. Maybe if he broke his thumbs . . .

"What are you doing," Superboy asked. He turned back to face them; kneeling and gripping the bars that separated them.

"I think I might be able to get out of this if . . ." Robin gripped his right thumb in his left hand.

"Dude! Don't . . ." KF gasped.

The snap was loud in the long hallway that housed the dozen or so cells.

"Nnngh," Robin grunted; panting through the pain.

"Oh, my God," Kid Flash croaked in horror. "I can't believe you just did that!"

Superboy stared, a little shocked by what the younger boy was willing to do. "Do you think that will work," he asked, frowning.

Robin didn't bother to answer.

He had to hurry. Robin could feel the power working to heal the break already. He pushed the broken digit into his palm in an unnatural position, but one that ultimately decreased the diameter of his hand. He shoved the cuff down hard and felt it begin to slip over the widest part of his hand. But it was difficult. It hurt. Robin blinked rapidly to dispel the tears of pain. He gritted his teeth and controlled his breathing with effort.

"Just hurry up and do it," the speedster said, grimacing in sympathy.

"Easy . . . for you . . . to say," Robin panted as he shoved the cuff another inch.

"Almost . . ." Superboy said with an unusual bit of encouragement. "You've almost got it."

"Hm, I wonder if that cuff had been tighter if you would have resorted to chewing off your own limb. Now _that_ would have been entertaining!"

 _Joker_.

* * *

One last push. Desperation helped. Robin's hand was through, but what now? He couldn't exactly repeat the process with Joker looking on. Joker discovering his ability right now while they were all still helpless would be a very bad thing.

Or would it?

Robin tucked his injured hand under his other arm; grimacing. He used his body to hide the healing that even now was slipping bone back into joint with no real effort on his part.

If he could keep Joker's attention on him, the clown wouldn't be hurting other people. Maybe he would be too distracted with his new toy that he'd leave his teammates alone; he would forget the bombs . . . Well, unless they were on a timer. _Damn it_! There were just too many variables!

He wished he knew the time. Batman should be arriving in a few hours. Surely he would have intercepted one of his transmissions by now. He would know where they were, what was going on, and what all was at stake. If he could just keep Joker busy or lure him close enough to knock him out. He wouldn't be expecting Robin to do that with a broken hand, after all.

"I wondered if any of you had woken up," Joker was saying. "You missed the first show, but I see that Robbie made sure you weren't completely disappointed," he laughed delightedly.

"What show," Robin asked. Dear God! What if they were too late? What if he already released the gas while they had been unconscious?

Joker looked at him with knowing eyes. "Oh, not the main attraction, if that's what you're worried about," he assured him. Joker took out a small box with a giant, red button affixed to it, under a clear lid. "You'll be the first to know when Gotham goes boom!" He tucked the detonator into his pocket.

"Where's Aqualad," Kid Flash demanded; his chains rattling in his agitation. "What have you done with him?"

"Aqualad?" Joker looked confused for a moment. "Oh wait! You mean Fishboy? What did you expect me to do after making such a huge catch?" His gaze flitted over the three teens. "I had to make sure that this one didn't get away. No one ever believes fish stories unless you've taken the time to mount the pike."

Joker moved back to the doors and reached down to grab something from the floor. He hauled a chain over his shoulder and with a grunt began pulling his burden down the aisle.

Momentarily forgetting his supposed injury, Robin moved onto his knees and leaned forward to see . . . And immediately regretted doing so.

"Oh, my God," Kid Flash turned suddenly toward the wall, sickened by what he saw.

"You sick bastard," Superboy roared.

Superboy lunged toward the front of his cell; his fury making his chains creak against the strain and the screws holding him securely to the concrete floor slip. The lights in his collar flared brighter as it struggled to dampen the Kryptonian's strength.

As a punishment, the collar sent a powerful electrical charge shrieking through the teen's body. Superboy collapsed onto his elbows in knees; his body thrashing under the onslaught as he screamed in torment, pain, and anger. When the shock finally stopped, Superboy lay in a silent heap. Smoke rose up from his hair and from where parts of his shirt and pants had been burned away.

Joker grinned; clapping enthusiastically. "Well now, _that_ was fun!"

He glanced over into the other cell where Robin glared at him and the yellow and red speedster hunkered down with his hands still over his ears. "It's like going to the circus! Don't you agree, Boy Blunder? Makes me curious as to what the next act will be!"

Robin blinked at the reference, but didn't react. Joker knew nothing about his or Batman's secret identities. The circus comment had been just that . . . A random comment.

Joker tossed the chain in his hands over an exposed pipe running along the ceiling, and tugged on the end of it when it fell from the other side. He began hauling his big catch up to dangle in front of the two cells.

His big catch . . . The other end of the chain was attached to a large meat hook; like the kind used in slaughterhouses and butcheries. The hook had entered through Aqualad's back just beneath his shoulder blade and exited through the teen's chest. Kaldur was obviously, and thankfully, unconscious, but Robin might have thought him dead from the way he swung so lifelessly in a slow circle. The way the teen gasped for breath, however, his chest rising and falling in painful jerks, assured his friends that he was still alive.

"I was disappointed at first that he didn't have scales, but we made do, didn't we?" Joker laughed goodheartedly at his own joke, and then playfully sent Aqualad's body swinging.

As if thrusting that hook through Kaldur's body hadn't been enough though, what had caused Wally to toss his dinner was the long strips of skin missing along Kaldur's chest, arms, and back. Joker had skinned him while they had lain in their cells unconscious. Why did it seem so much worse that there had been no one awake to hear his screams?

But Aqualad was still alive, somehow; miraculously . . . Although how long he could stay that way was anyone's guess.

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **. . . 3 . . . 2 . . .**

 **No, once again, I want to remind you that this isn't the mildly-funny, watered-down version of Joker found in the YJ series. This is the unhinged maniac that would cut off his own face at some point in the future (in "Death of the Family"). I always found him to be terrifying when he's portrayed as the psychopath that he truly is. This guy would scare me . . . He doesn't cackle like a buffoon as he does in the cartoons. His is the deep, resonating laughter of a man who delights in his mania and would wallow in the blood of his victims. He is a man who will forever laugh alone because everyone else is a corpse.**

 **Does he scare you, too?**

 ***I already have the next chapter written and ready to go. I have no intention of this being a cliffhanger for long. I will be posting it today! In fact, it is already up! I couldn't stand having it finished and not posting it for you. But you must give me two reviews for this two-fer! One for each . . . Next is the BIG surprise OMG! moment I have been promising you! Tell me if you saw that one coming!***


	42. Pt 41 - Why So Serious?

**. . . 1 . . . 0 . . . :O - Was this the twist you were looking for?**

 **WARNINGS: STRONG Language; Violence, and Disturbing Images . . .**

* * *

As soon as Joker left the room, Robin called out. "Aqualad? Can you hear me?"

He wasn't sure if getting no answer was a good thing or not, so he turned to Superboy. "Superboy! Superboy! Are you alright? M'gann! Artemis! Gah! Someone answer me!"

Wally raised his head; his eyes, visible through his mask were red and wet with tears, but there was something else there, too. Anger was overshadowing his fear right now, and that gave Robin hope.

"KF, are you with me now?"

Kid Flash ran an arm across his eyes. "I'm here. I'm with you."

Even as Robin watched, the speedster's nose began to bleed again and he blurred ever so slightly. Wally was trying to vibrate through his cuffs again. Robin prayed that this time, he was successful. In the meantime, Robin's thumb was nearly healed. It still hurt to move it, but the fact that he could was more important. He needed to break the other thumb and get free of the last cuff.

Superboy groaned, and his chains rattled as he attempted to push himself up.

"I'm going to kill that son of a bitch," he growled, from a position on his hands and knees. When he raised his head, Aqualad's limp form greeted him, and he snarled. "I'm going to reach down his fucking throat and pull out his spine!"

"Easy, Supey," Robin crooned, trying to calm the clone. "You don't want to do that."

Conner's head snapped around to stare at Robin. "Did you not see what he did to Kaldur? _Look at him_ ," he demanded. "Look at him, and tell me that you don't want to break that demented clown in two."

 _Yes_! Yes, he did, but he wasn't a murderer, and neither would his teammates be if he had any say in it. Robin rubbed his temple. _Shit_! This was all falling apart! Bringing the team had been a mistake. How was Robin supposed to get them out of this, save the city, and prevent members of his team from becoming murderers in the process?

How long until Batman returned? He had lost track of time, but he thought they had maybe three more hours to go. A lot could happen in three hours. He was sure that Kaldur didn't have three more hours to spare.

"Superboy, does your communicator still work," Robin asked, attempting to distract his friend from his rage. "Try to contact the League."

"That last shock took it out," he growled. "It's fried."

Robin turned back to Wally. "KF! Check yours!"

Wally looked like he had just escaped a horror flick. His lower face and the entire front of his uniform was covered in blood; even his red lightning bolt was completely obscured. He was panting and what parts of him wasn't bloody was drenched in sweat. The cuffs were still clamped onto his wrists.

His hands were shaking as he reached for his communicator . . . Not vibrating, but shaking. He was running low on fuel. He was going to need to eat something soon.

"Nothing," he said after a moment.

"Is it burned out, too," Robin asked.

"I'm not sure. It could be, but it might just be that we're too far underground for the signal to escape," Wally muttered. "When we get out of this, I'm going to see what I can do to up the strength of this thing. This is twice now that we've been stuck underground and needed the League but the signal was too weak to reach them."

Robin wasn't even sure his own tracking devices were up to the challenge. He still had at least two on him; one in his cape and another in his boot. He wasn't certain where the Joker had taken his gloves and his belt, but they, too, would have begun sending out a distress signal upon being removed.

The pain from Robin's thumb was dying away. He flexed it. It was strong enough now, he thought he could break the other thumb and get free of the last cuff. Then he could try to help Aqualad.

"I almost managed to snap the chain before the collar could stop me," Superboy noted. "I think that I could do it if I tried again."

"But it would shock you unconscious again," Robin reminded him. "And each time you challenge it, the shock gets stronger. You don't know what that might do to you."

"You want that I should just sit here doing nothing? Being useless?" Conner voice came out bitter. "That's not going to happen! Kaldur, M'gann, and Artemis need medical attention! They're not going to get it unless we _make_ it happen."

"I know. You're right," Robin admitted, nodding. "But I'm almost free. I just have one more cuff . . ."

"And then what," Conner snarked. "You don't have any of your gadgets with you."

"I still think Artemis might have something that will help us," Robin insisted.

He was certain that he wasn't the only member of the team to employ lockpicks. He glanced over at the blonde archer. She was moving . . . _finally_! Thank God, because Robin was getting seriously worried about her and M'gann. He looked back over at the Martian. M'gann still hadn't regained consciousness. Had the Joker done something to her while they were all unconscious like he had to Kaldur?

A loud clank caught their attention, and Robin jerked back toward the entrance to their prison. A second clanking noise, that of metal on metal, reverberated off the walls. A rattle followed . . . _What_?

Joker was back, and this time was carrying an armful of items with him. Robin saw a baseball bat, a long piece of rebar, a crowbar, and a length of chain. This didn't bode well for them.

"I'm back, kiddies," he smiled at them. "Did you miss your dear Uncle J?"

Superboy growled and jerked at his chains, but not so hard as to set his collar off.

"I thought I would use our time together to conduct a little experiment," he continued; totally ignoring the threatening sounds emanating from the clone's cell. "I want to answer the age-old question; which hurts more?"

He held up his bounty. "The baseball bat might give you a 'sporting' chance, but the rebar has all that wonderful texture to it. Imagine all the lovely mottling the bruises would show if I used this."

He dropped everything on the floor with a clatter outside of Robin's cell. He continued talking as he dug out a key to unlock the cell door.

"A crowbar might be the 'tool' of choice, but I'm betting that this chain could get you all wound up," he chuckled coldly in his gruff, smoker's voice at his own joke. "Which of you would like to volunteer to be my assistant?"

"I will," Robin volunteered quickly. "I'll do it! You can use me."

"Always so helpful," Joker mused, gleefully. "No wonder Bats keeps you around."

"Why don't you come over here, Clown," Superboy called out. "I'm sure I can give you a good workout. Come on in here and let's see what you can do to me!"

Joker looked at the other cell's occupants. The super teenybopper was still glaring at him. He may be crazy, but the Joker wasn't stupid.

"No. I think not. I'm sure I have something stashed away that will prove useful in dealing with you, but this experiment requires . . . finesse." Joker waved his hands dramatically. "That and the ability to bruise; something you are missing. You are just going to have to wait for your turn."

Artemis groaned and lifted her head.

"Sh," KF shushed her. He didn't want her to attract the Joker's attention. Better that the clown still believed her unconscious.

"What?" Artemis rolled over, and blinked her eyes at Wally.

Joker looked at the girl for the first time.

"I'll do it," Kid yelped; his chains rattling as he raised up onto his knees. He was desperate to draw the clown's attention away. "I volunteer as tribute!"

"What are you doing," Robin hissed at him.

Sure, Kid Flash could take some damage and had super healing abilities himself, but weakened as he was and with no promise of food in sight, this crazy stunt would likely kill him. Robin was the best choice. The Joker knew him and his connection to Batman. He would enjoy beating up the Bat's junior partner, and they all knew that Robin could take it. All of them, that is, except the Joker.

"It's okay," KF told him.

"No, it's not," he disagreed harshly. Robin raised his voice for the Joker. "You know this is between you and me, Joker."

Artemis sat up shakily. "What's happening?"

"Sh," Kid Flash hushed her again. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size, Jokester?"

"Oh my God! Is that Aqualad," Artemis squeaked. Her eyes were huge as they darted around the room in confusion; leading Robin to believe she must have a concussion on top of the electrical burns that he could see marring areas of her skin.

Joker stood in the doorway of the cell; glancing between the three of them.

"If you want Batman's attention, Joker, you want _me_ ," Robin taunted him.

Joker moved to stand in front of the Boy Wonder, yet far enough back that Robin couldn't reach him. "And ignore the gifts you brought with you? That would be rude of me, wouldn't it? After all the trouble you went through to get them here . . ." He grinned as he looked back over his shoulder at the dangling Atlantian. "And they are so much fun."

Robin leaped forward suddenly, as far as his cuff would allow him and kicked out. His boot came within an inch of the clown's nose. Joker actually flinched back before he began laughing hysterically; the sound sending chills up Robin's spine.

"Ah, ah, ah," he waved a finger at the young teen. "I know what you are up to. You can't fool your Uncle J."

Joker picked up the chain first; twisting it around his hand to improve his grip.

"Let's begin with this, shall we," he suggested. Happily, he swung the chain around his head and turned away from Robin abruptly; bringing the makeshift weapon down across Kid Flash's back instead.

Wally bowed from the unexpected force of the blow, and grunted.

"NO!" Robin yelled as Artemis screamed. Superboy roared in anger.

"What do you think, Flashboy? How did that feel?" Joker chortled; swinging the chain back in the other direction.

Prepared, the teen brought his arm up and caught the chain. The last few links still hurt as they wrapped around his wrist. Kid Flash yanked the chain out of the Joker's hand and flung it against the wall behind him.

"I may be a cheap date, Jokester," the speedster taunted. "But I'm not easy."

Joker looked at the redheaded teen with new appreciation. "A challenge . . .," he grinned. "Oh, but I'm so going to enjoy this!"

A liquid suddenly squirted from the flower in the clown's lapel. Kid Flash dodged the spray easily, or would have had the clown actually been aiming for him. Instead, he had angled it away at the last minute; hitting Artemis. The bulk of it landed on her leg and arm, but a few small drops splattered across her cheek. Her scream was high-pitch and full of agony as the acid began eating its way through her uniform and her skin.

"Artemis!" Wally yelled, lunging toward her. He fell short by several inches. "Stop it! Help her! Get it off!"

Superboy grabbed his collar and yanked. This time, the jolt that hit him was magnified astronomically. He cried out as the strength of the voltage tumbled him onto his back. His body arched and seized under the assault as sparks flew off of the collar and flashes of light flickered off of the walls in crazy patterns.

Over the screams and the crackling of the electricity, Joker laughed. He bent down and picked up the rebar. This time when the Joker swung, the unprepared speedster took the brunt of the blow hard on his forearm. KF yelped in pain; his attention returned forcefully to the danger in the room as his bones snapped.

Amidst the chaos, Robin jerked his thumb back hard. He bent it across his palm and shoved with desperate purpose.

Joker would kill his friends right in front of him. If Robin couldn't reach them, he couldn't save them. But he wouldn't be able to save them anyway as long as the Joker remained free. None of the others were in position to stop the clown if Robin were to pause in order to heal anyone first.

Priorities straight, Robin knew he had to handle the clown before he did anything else. He had to stop Joker so completely that he wouldn't harm anyone ever again. But he wouldn't kill him . . .

No matter how much the Joker might deserve it, Robin refused to deal in death.

* * *

Joker tossed the rebar down and picked up the bat. He struck the teen again and again. A second crack sounded, but Wally couldn't hear it over the ringing in his ears. He felt it though . . .

His femur shattered under the heavy wooden bat.

He screamed.

But that laugh . . . That laugh punctuated every swing; penetrated the ringing in his ears; wove itself into the very fabric of the screams that now filled his world. Wally knew that that laugh would continue to follow him down into his nightmares.

That is, _if_ he lived . . .

Looking through the tears of pain, Joker's image was blurry, but not so much that Wally couldn't see him toss the bat out into the aisle. He leaned down and picked up the crowbar.

"Last but not least," he chortled gaily; twirling the heavy metal in his hand like a baton.

That would be what killed him.

He glanced over at Artemis as she writhed in agony. Her hands were batting and rubbing futilely at the acid, but she only managed to burn them as well.

Her face . . . he thought. Her beautiful face . . . Why had he never told her that she was beautiful? That she was smart and witty and could kick major ass with or without a bow? Now he would die being an idiot, and she would never know how much he had admired her.

Superboy's cries were dwindling; drawing Wally's attention. Conner's shirt hung in tatters. Wisps of smoke was rising up from his body; his hair, even from his nostrils. His eyes, though clenched tight, looked bruised and his lips, ears and fingertips were blackened! How great was that charge that had gone through him anyway?

M'gann! M'gann had yet to wake up . . . Would she wake up? And if she did, what would she find? Her teammates tortured to death around her?

The crowbar slammed into his chest, cracking his sternum and driving his breath from his body. Try as he might, Wally couldn't draw in another breath. Was this it? Was this how he was going to die?

Joker raised the crowbar again, shifting his stance. This time the clown would bring the metal tool down across his head. Wally wouldn't have time to suffocate . . .

Movement caught his attention and Wally's eyes widened as he watched Robin slam into the clown, driving him sideways and causing him to drop the crowbar. The younger boy kicked the cruel steel bar to the side and grasped Joker's lapels in both hands even as the clown attempted to choke the life out of him. Robin planted a foot into Joker's stomach and fell backwards, tossing the crazy villain over his head. Joker's hands were ripped free of Robin's throat; leaving vivid, angry bruises behind. The clown slammed into the stone wall at the back of the cell and crumpled onto the floor in a heap.

Wally thought it couldn't happen to a nicer guy . . .

Robin rolled to his feet as Joker made to get up. But instead of finishing the job, Robin fell to his knees in front of the maniac.

"It ends now, Joker. Say goodbye," Wally heard Robin choke out hoarsely.

 _Wait_? _What_? What was he doing? He wouldn't actually kill the clown; Wally was fairly certain of this, but what did Robin mean by that cryptic remark?

As he watched, Robin clasped both hands to Joker's face, and they both screamed . . .

"No!" Wally gasped, but his chest was on fire; his leg and arm were broken. "Don't . . ."

A crash sounded in the distance . . . Wally heard the sound of running feet. People were yelling. Something black flew past his line of sight, but even as his mind made the connection, the Flash was suddenly kneeling in front of him.

"Wally? Christ, what did he do to you?" Flash was asking him.

Wally blinked. His uncle's words seemed to hover just on the edge of his understanding.

"Robin! **_No_**! My God, _what have you **done**_?" Batman's horrified voice, however, drew him out of his head and back into the present.

Wally allowed his Uncle Barry to help him sit up and he propped himself up against the wall. Wonder Woman was leaning over Artemis.

"Flash, I need water now," she demanded.

His uncle reappeared a mere second later with a bucket of water he had gotten from somewhere. He assisted Wonder Woman in washing the acid from the girl's wounds.

Martian Manhunter was using telekinesis to remove Kaldur from the hook and lower him to the ground where Black Canary waited to help him. Flash was beside her the next second helping her to assess the Atlantian's condition. The Manhunter broke the lock to the adjoining cell and he rushed in to M'gann and Conner's aid.

But Wally's attention was torn away from all that by the drama happening just a few feet away from him. A sickening laugh went up; one he had never heard before . . . One that raised the hair on the back of his neck.

It was followed by another voice. "Oh, God! Get that thing _away_ from me!"

Who? Wally watched as a man he didn't recognize scuttled back into the corner of the cell. He had brown hair and fearful, brown eyes and wore . . . a . . . a purple suit? He was gaping at the chaos around him.

"Help me," he cried. "Someone help me! Where am I? Who are you people?"

Martian Manhunter was helping M'gann sit up in the cell beyond. He stood and moved across the expanse and shifted through the metal bars. The man screamed and cringed in fear of the green alien. The Manhunter knelt down; speaking softly and gently to the terrified man.

"We won't hurt you," he said, not unkindly. "What is your name?"

The man looked around wildly, but after a moment, swallowed audibly and answered. "M-My n-name . . ." he stammered. "My n-name is J-Jack . . . Jack Napier. Please, help me! W-Who or what is that? _Please,_ " he begged, pointing in Batman's direction. "Keep it away from me!"

The manic laughter was growing louder now. Where was it coming from? Wally stared as Batman shifted as Robin attempted to pull away from him. Batman refused to let him go, however. Instead, the Bat clamped the boy's wrists in a ziptie. When Robin finally turned his head in Wally's direction, it wasn't his best friend looking back at him.

White, chalky skin; messy, green hair; and the mouth . . . blood-red lips were pulled back into a wide, grotesque grin. The frightening laughter emerged again as the familiar opaque lenses in the black mask met the speedster's horrified gaze. That wasn't Robin's signature cackle! That . . . That was something else!

"No . . . Oh, God, no!" Wally whispered. This couldn't be happening!

"What's wrong, Wally?" Robin was giggling wildly.

Goosebumps rose up on Wally's skin.

"Why so serious?"

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **Okay, so I couldn't resist that last line . . . (Yes, there was a Hunger Games reference as well. No, I do not own that either.) So? . . . What do you think? Bet you weren't expecting THAT when you started reading this chapter, did you? I NEED reactions! This story plot has been haunting me for a couple of months now. What are you thinking?**

 **I'll admit when this idea came to me (in a dream, I kid you not), I woke up in shock. Totally dumbfounded! And the 3 surprise endings followed along right behind it . . .**

 **I will be publishing all 3 endings at the same time. It will take me a little time to write all three, but be aware that when next I post to this story, there will be 3 new chapters to it.**

 **READ THE WARNINGS POSTED AT THE TOP OF EACH ENDING! This is ultimately a tragedy (even the so-called "happy" ending will likely make you cry) and I warn you now that ONE ending WILL contain a character death. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO READ ALL ENDINGS! However, if you do, please tell me which ending you liked best for this story . . . Please?**


	43. ENDING ONE

**Remember to leave a review at the end of whichever ending you choose to read. If you read all three, PLEASE, tell me which you prefer and why.**

 **ENDING ONE: This is the happy version. Okay, happy-ISH! This one is set 6 months later . . .**

 **WARNINGS: Strong Language, Some Violence and Graphic Images, and Disturbing Topics . . .**

* * *

Bruce entered the house through the garage. He seldom went into the office anymore, and when he did, the buildup of things consumed him completely. Lucius had stepped up as he was wont to do when it was necessary and Bruce had no complaints with the job he did. But now it was back to the real world; a new world that consumed his time just as thoroughly as anything at Wayne Enterprises.

He sat his briefcase and keys on the counter in the mudroom and tossed his coat over them both. Alfred seldom met him at the front door anymore, so he began entering and exiting the house through the garage. He didn't mind. The man was often too busy for such trivialities now.

He could hear the water running in the kitchen and assumed Alfred had started the preparation for dinner. But the scene that greeted him froze him in the doorway for several long seconds.

Blood was all over the floor and the counter. Alfred hunched over the kitchen sink, shuddering.

"Dear God! Alfred, what happened here?"

The elder man turned toward him; the dishcloth wrapped around his hand was soaked red with blood.

"Ah, Master Bruce, thank God, you're home," Alfred said by way of greeting. "I'm sure this looks much worse than it is. It was my fault, really."

"Your fault? Did you cut yourself?" Bruce prayed that was the case, but the evidence was clear as he moved further into the room. The trail of blood came from the dining room and the house beyond. Bruce had no doubt where exactly the trail of blood began.

"He fooled me. I knew better than to believe him, and yet I couldn't seem to stop myself from doing what I could to help him." Alfred shook his head ruefully. He appeared to be in shock. That made two of them.

Pulling himself out of his stupor, Bruce ran to the older man, and helped him to sit at the kitchen table. He carefully unwrapped the towel in order to see the damage done beneath. As evidence, it was damning.

"Dick did this," the statement was flat; one of fact. The first stirring of anger was immediate.

"I thought he was choking, sir." Alfred grimaced.

The bite was deep and a large chunk of flesh had been removed. "Have you made any attempt to call Leslie? This will need stitches and possibly even surgery," Bruce murmured. There was bound to be nerve damage.

 _ **Damn it**_ **!** There were rules in place to prevent this sort of thing! His temper flared hotter. What might have happened if Bruce had chosen to work late? Or been caught up in traffic?

"It only just happened. I've only had time to rush here."

* * *

There were bathrooms closer, but Alfred had chosen to come to the kitchen to tend to his wound. Certainly he felt more comfortable here, but Bruce wondered if Alfred fled here because he felt safer; because in the kitchen there were weapons with which to defend one's self.

Each of them bore scars from over the past six months of caring for the boy. It didn't take long to discover that the healing factor bestowed on Dick by the laser indeed had its limits. Every wound and scar of Joker's had been healed by the boy, but no one had ever considered that Robin would be able to heal the man of his insanity. Jack Napier had stood in that cell gaping at them all; confused and frightened by the growling and giggling emerging from his ' _savior_ '. Robin had taken on the characteristics of the Joker when he drew the insanity into himself.

The pasty, white flesh had eventually been replaced by healthy pink skin; the dark green hair by Dick's familiar soft, black locks; the blood-red lips faded to normal tones. But the insanity . . . Ah, the insanity had remained.

Robin had been taken to the Watchtower in the beginning, but it was clear that even there, danger lurked. The boy had managed to escape his confines and attack several people. Screams echoed through its hallways both night and day. It was feared that Robin would somehow use the Zeta tubes to escape and then there would be nothing more they could do for him at that point.

And so the team had learned, finally, Robin's identity. It had been somewhat anticlimactic in the wake of their last, tragic mission. The other five members had been in various levels of shock and all were continuing to recuperate slowly . . . and painfully. None could have stood to have been in close contact to Dick in his current state long enough for a healing to occur; even if forcing such a thing on the boy hadn't been ethically and morally ambiguous. So, they would continue to go through months of therapy, and hopefully learn to deal with the emotional fallout and, in some cases, the disfigurement that this confrontation had left them with.

It was not an ideal situation . . . Young Justice had been something of an experiment to begin with, but Batman had had high hopes for them. The team had had several impressive successes under their belt before this. In truth, this mission could be also counted amongst their successes. The VX bombs had been recovered with no civilian injuries or property damage. So, too, had all the members of the team lived through it . . . Although perhaps the term 'lived' was stretching it a bit? 'Survived' would be more accurate, and none without their scars, be them physical or emotional in nature.

The team itself, however . . . It had been necessary to disband it for a time. It was uncertain if any of the members would eventually return.

In the case of Aqualad, his injuries were sufficient to prevent his return to the world of crime fighting indefinitely. Artemis and Kid Flash's relationship had taken a new turn as they grew closer during their physical recuperation. They were now inseparable. It would remain to be seen if the trauma that drew them together would keep them that way, but as it was, the two teens were proving to be an invaluable asset to one another's emotional recovery.

M'gann had suffered devastating electrical burns that had sent her back to Mars. If she would return to earth was anyone's guess. J'onn was quiet on the subject; refusing to discuss it.

If anything positive came from this catastrophic mission, it was watching Clark stepping up to his responsibilities with Conner. The clone had taken the events of that day extremely hard; taking the blame for the traumas inflicted on his teammates onto his own young shoulders; the guilt of which had threatened to be the boy's undoing. The last he had heard, Clark had reported him to be making some promising strides during his stay with Clark's parents in Smallville. Apparently, the older couple immediately took to the boy; adopting him as their long-lost grandson.

And then there was Dick . . . Or what was left of him.

Bruce refused to place the boy in Arkham Asylum. He remembered the discomfort the boy had displayed when he would occasionally accompany the Batman there. No matter how Robin tried to hide it, he had always known when the boy was afraid. How could he live with himself if he installed Dick into the one place that had only always inspired fear in him?

Besides, the asylum proved to be nothing more than a revolving door for the original Joker, how effective would it prove to be to one with Robin's own intelligence and skills? The boy needed special handling and an escape-proof cell. With the help of Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, and Superman, a room was chosen to be modified. Not Dick's old bedroom, however. Bruce couldn't bring himself to destroy the last vestiges he had of the happy, loving boy he had come to love as his son.

But even in the modified cell, Dick had very nearly managed to escape its confines several times until, eventually, even the skylight he had been forced to remove.

It killed Bruce to place Dick inside the padded cell without even a window to allow in natural light, but the boy was just too dangerous . . . As Alfred's wound attested. It was almost as if he were being possessed so little of the boy's original personality remained.

Bruce frowned. Would that explain Dick's inability to heal his own insanity? Because it wasn't natural but an entity? It was an idea that merited further thought . . .

"I hadn't time to call Dr. Thompkins as yet," Alfred admitted, drawing Bruce from his roaming thoughts. "I-I panicked, sir. You must go check on him immediately. I don't remember if I even closed the door to his room behind me so quickly did I flee. I had the keys, but I fear that I must have dropped them."

Bruce's eyes widened in alarm. "Is he restrained?"

"He was, but you know how easily he manages to get out of them." Alfred waved him on with his free hand. "I will call the doctor, sir. Go! Master Dick needs you."

Bruce turned and ran.

* * *

It was true . . . Every restraint they had tried the boy would escape sooner or later. Bruce spent a good portion of his time designing and developing newer, more complicate versions in order to keep Dick contained. At first, Dick had been only restrained at night, when both he and Alfred were sleeping or whenever Bruce was gone from the house in whatever guise. But after a series of close calls and alarms, they had had no choice but to keep the boy restrained twenty-four/seven.

The guilt of watching his once-active son wither away because he couldn't be trusted with even the freedom to wander his own cell ate at him. It seemed like every day Bruce could see his son wasting away a little bit more. The light that used to emanate from him like Dick had his own private reserve of sunshine had since been replaced by the disturbing light of his insanity. When Bruce searched Dick's eyes for some semblance of his old self, it was only the boy's psychosis that stared back at him.

Laughter could be heard echoing through the halls. It was louder now because Alfred must have indeed left the cell door open . . . At least he hoped Dick was still ensconced in his cell. If he had gotten free . . . Dear God! If he escaped the manor . . .

Bruce shied away from that thought. Only Batman would be able to take the boy down or perhaps some of the more powerful members of the League night stand a chance. But the likelihood that it could require lethal force grew exponentially with every step the boy took outside of the manor. This new being would never give up without a fight; one Bruce feared would only leave one of them standing in the end. And as Dick was the only one for whom death held no power, Bruce feared for Gotham should that day come.

The laughter was dying away.

Bruce frowned . . . That was something new.

The laughter never seemed to stop. No one could ever pin down a moment when Dick was sleeping. At any given moment, if you looked in on him, it would be to find the boy staring back at you with that evil glint that promised a bloody and painful death should you relax your guard for one second.

Was the laughter retreating because Dick had escaped the confines of his restraints? Was the boy getting farther away? By the time Bruce stepped onto the third floor where Dick's cell was, where Bruce had moved as well in order to keep a close eye out on him, the laughter had died away altogether.

Silence greeted him.

What the hell happened?

Was the boy gone completely? The third floor would be no obstacle to the ex-acrobat if he were determined to escape. Or had he grown aware of Bruce's eminent arrival and was now actively hunting him? Despite his anxiousness, Bruce slowed down; stretching his senses in a bid to head off an assassin's attack.

Could Alfred's initial assessment been correct after all, and the boy truly been choking?

Had Dick lost all sense of self-preservation and struck out at his caregiver and potential savior? Was he even now growing cold as the last of his life seeped out of him? Even if permanent death wasn't possible in the boy's case, Bruce's heartrate accelerated in response.

Several members of the League believed that Dick still retained his healing factor, but it was impossible to tell. The boy, for lack of a victim, would harm himself; cutting, stabbing, bruising, even breaking his own bones. It was so common that Bruce wasn't sure if the wounds he saw inflicted on the boy's body were old ones and his healing factor had fled, or if they had healed only to be replaced by new ones by the next day. His restraints only slowed his self-mutilation in some small measure.

Bruce still harbored the doubts to the permanency of the healing factor, despite Dick's previous 'recoveries'. But Bruce would almost welcome an attack to the fear that Dick could suddenly be gone forever. He wasn't ready yet to say goodbye; to lower his son's body into the grave once and for all.

He and the League would continue researching the MoD, as they were all calling it now. They believed that using it again had the ability to remove the healing factor that it had previously bestowed. Bruce only hesitated because there was some suspicion that it would go one step further and remove any natural immunity the boy actually had as well. Dick could wind up accidentally given an auto-immune deficiency disease. The only reason Bruce kept researching was because there was the theory that a second dose from the laser might also, just possibly, heal Dick's insanity.

That was the choice . . . Let him continue to suffer indefinitely and risk Alfred and the citizens of Gotham should Dick ever escape his captivity, or heal his insanity and risk losing him to infection within a few weeks or months! But leaving him like this; psychotic and with the ability to heal from death itself . . . It was like the world's worst horror movie realized: an immortal Michael Myers . . . A Joker on steroids.

* * *

The door was indeed ajar.

Bruce eased to the opening. Carefully and quietly peering around the edge of the doorframe. His breath eased from him silently.

Dick was still there.

The restraint he was wearing was a modified type of strait jacket. The original jackets hadn't a chance against Dick's talent at contortionism. His legs were also restrained with padded leather cuffs that were permanently attached to the metal cot he slept on. The cot was as new as the restraints. Most of the time, these last few months, Dick had been forced to sleep on the padded floor because he had used any object or furniture as a weapon, if not against Bruce or Alfred or Leslie, then against himself.

The boy sat hunched with his back to the door. He seemed to be staring at a spot in the far corner. His shoulders were shaking visibly. Silent laughter or was this some form of a seizure? Was this some new behavior or was his boy sick?

Bruce stepped into the room quietly; closing and locking the door behind him. His own keys were worthless while he was in here. He would only escape if Alfred or perhaps Leslie, when she arrived, opened the door from the outside. He was taking a risk without someone watching, but Bruce was reasonably confident he would be able to handle the boy if it came to that.

He eyed the restraints. They appeared to be solid and without wear. Surely, if they had been ineffective, Dick would have already fled the room and perhaps the manor altogether.

At the soft sound of the lock engaging, the boy flinched. His head turned slightly.

"Dick?" Bruce used a gentle voice; speaking softly in hopes of keeping the boy somewhat calm. It only worked thirty percent of the time. Just enough to make it worth the effort to at least try it.

Dick gasped and hunched in on himself. As Bruce walked around him, he could see Alfred's blood coating Dick's mouth and chin still. It had dripped off to stain his strait jacket liberally. The image of the older man so visibly shaken by the boy he had so loved and cared for flashed before Bruce's eyes and anger swelled once more at the boy's wanton and erratic violence. Whatever good intentions he may have had fled.

"Goddamn it! Look at me when I talk to you!" So much for the gentle approach . . .

"B-Bruce?" Dick pressed himself into the wall.

Did he think honestly think he could pretend meekness? Six months had taught Bruce the hard lesson to not trust the boy when he became quiet. It usually led to an even more aggressive and violent attack when your guard was down.

Bruce moved forward and grabbed the edge of the jacket and used it to pull the boy forward and slam him back into the wall once. He didn't feel guilty in the least. That wall was padded. It used to even be white at one time. Now it was stained a mix of colors from food, blood, other bodily fluids, even excrement, being spilt upon it. It was impossible to keep clean.

"What the hell is wrong with you," he yelled into the boy's face.

Dick's altered personality seemed to understand a position of strength the vast majority of the time. And although Bruce knew that his yelling wouldn't change a thing, it would help to release some of his tension . . . Tension that had been building over the last six months!

"Alfred is here to care for you and you show your gratitude by attacking him yet again! You bit him, you little son of a bitch! He's going to need stitches and a series of shots at the very least, and surgery to repair the damage you inflicted on him in the worst case scenario!" Bruce slammed him back again into the padded wall.

He would regret this; Bruce _knew_ he would regret this later despite the fact that Dick would merely hiss and spit on him before they were through.

"I have half a mind to toss your scrawny ass into Arkham and forget about you!"

Yeah, that would _never_ happen . . . Dick was a part of his soul. He was his son. This apparition or whatever it was that was torturing his child; whatever had stripped his boy's sanity from his mind, it still dwelt inside of Dick's body. Bruce would cling to whatever small sliver of some part of his son still resided within him and always would until one of them fled this mortal coil.

The words that came out of Bruce's mouth were a reflection of his anger, frustration, and fear. For six months, he had been the epitome of patience. Both he and Alfred had suffered injuries before now, but today was the straw and Bruce, the camel's back.

"Would you like that? Hm? Answer me, you psychopathic piece of shit!" Bruce shook the boy and tossed him back onto the cot like a dirty rag. The memory of Alfred's bloodied hand and the fear on that gentle face made his own blood boil . . .

That was his only excuse for taking so long to notice.

Dick's tearstained face stared up at him with stark and utter fear.

Bruce blinked.

Was this a trick? He shook his head . . . It had to be!

The boy's lower lip quivered. "S-Stop! I don't know w-what you're t-talking about! B-Bruce! What d-did I do that you put me here?"

Bruce narrowed his eyes. Dick's tears obscured his eyes. His gaze dropped down to Alfred's blood that still dripped off of the boy's chin.

"Don't pretend you don't remember," Bruce snarled. "You've hurt that man one too many times now."

"W-Who? Alfred?" Dick squeaked. "No! I'd _never_ hurt A-Alfred! What is going o-on?" He dragged the last word out pitifully.

"What game are you playing at now, boy? It's not going to work!" Bruce warned him in a growl.

"I-It's no game," he cried. "I'm s-sorry! I don't know what I've done! I don't r-remember anything! Why d-don't I remember?"

Bruce's anger faltered a moment. Dick had never been able to last so long without lashing out before. His nostrils flared and his resolve returned. So, the boy had learned a little patience . . . He could hold onto the character he was playing for a shred longer than before.

He gripped the boy's face with enough force to leave a few fingerprints if only for a few minutes before they would inevitably heal. Dick flinched, but Bruce was determined that he would learn to regret hurting Alfred. If he could just instill a little fearful respect for the elder man, Bruce might be able to sleep for a few minutes . . . maybe . . . in another week . . . or three.

He wiped the blood from Dick's chin with his other hand. He held it before his eyes for several long seconds. He wanted the boy to 'see' what he had done, so there was no confusion later. Bruce was careful to retain a powerful hold on Dick's face to prevent his taking a chomp out of his own hand in the process.

Dick's eyes widened and a look of pure horror washed over him. It was Academy Award-winning acting . . . If it were . . . acting?

Tears welled anew and fell; clearing streaks in the blood remaining on his face with their salty trails.

"Oh, no . . . Oh, God! W-What happened? W-What did I do?" Pleading eyes begged Bruce to relieve him of his confusion and his guilt. "I-I didn't m-mean to . . ." his voice caught on a sob, "t-to hurt Alfred! I don't want to h-hurt _anyone_!"

Bruce frowned. "Dick?"

"I'm sorry, Bruce," Dick cried; weeping openly. "Tell Alfred that I'm s-sorry! I'm so-so sorry . . . I didn't mean it!"

Bruce released Dick's face, wincing as he knew he would at the sight of the bruises that marred the boy's jaw. His hand slowly fell away. Dick's head dropped to his chest as he cried his heart out. He leaned back against the padded wall and slowly slid down until he lay on his side. Bruce stared at him, confused. Dick had never missed an opportunity to inflict harm on another; dropping whatever weak act he was doing in order to strike out with breathtaking viciousness.

Bruce had given him more than an ample opportunity to take a hunk out of his own hand and yet . . . the boy had ignored it.

As he watched, Dick tried several times to draw his legs up to his chest in a scene reminiscent of so many other times when he had been inconsolable; be it after a nightmare or on the anniversary of his parents' deaths. It was a sight that he couldn't remember witnessing even once during the past six months. The boy couldn't pull his legs up this time, however, because of the leather straps that kept him secure so as to be unable to kick at his caretakers.

Eventually, the boy seemed to realize this and stopped trying, but, if anything, his sobbing grew worse. He began to hyperventilate as he struggled against his body for oxygen. He hiccuped . . .

"Dick?" Bruce repeated for lack of anything else to do. He felt helpless in the face of Dick's torment, but somewhere, in a deep, deep part of his heart, a tiny beacon of hope flickered to life. He had thought that it had all but died.

Carefully, warily, Bruce eased himself down onto the cot beside his son. His hand hovered above the boy's head, as if afraid that if he touched him, the mania would return and claim him forever.

Dick rocked back and forth, as if torn between wanting to touch the man beside him and wanting to hide from him. It was so out of character for the monster they had been harboring in this cell that Bruce was afraid to even breathe. But he remembered . . .

He remembered that this wasn't so out of character for one grieving, little boy.

He slowly lowered his hand into that mess of ebony-black hair. He stroked the too-long locks; gently pushing back the bangs off of the forehead and out of Dick's eyes as he had done so long ago in moments of affection; moments of comfort. Dick shuddered violently and seemed to hold his breath, much as Bruce was doing.

He turned a grief-stricken face up to Bruce. The cautious hope that shown out of those red-rimmed eyes reflected Bruce's own. The beautiful cerulean-blue finally lacked the shadows that had haunted them for so long. Dick's lip quivered as he hiccuped.

"Dick? Is that you?" Bruce's question slipped out unconsciously and whisper-soft.

Dick's face scrunched up as fresh tears threatened anew. He struggled awkwardly to sit up, and Bruce suddenly rushed to help him. When the boy suddenly threw himself against Bruce's chest, it was all he could do not to thrust the teenager away from him in an act of self-preservation, but a shred of that blossoming hope had him hesitating just long enough. Dick pushed himself into Bruce's arms, and the weeping began again.

"I'm sorry, Bruce," he kept repeating. "W-Whatever I did, I'm so s-sorry! Please, _please_ forgive me, Dad . . ."

The title just slipped out. It had been too long since Bruce had last heard it.

Dick had only called him that in moments of sickness or fear before Bruce had finally pushed the paperwork through and adopted him last year. Afterwards, for a short time, Dick had called him that quite often; daily even. It had tapered off after the novelty had worn down, but not completely. Mostly in times of stress . . . But despite the harsh realities that would bring it to the surface, Bruce cherished each and every time he heard it. It was like a gift to a man who loved children in his heart, but had long since given up the idea of having them.

His arms curled of their own accord around the boy.

"I promise . . . I won't do it again," Dick was murmuring into his side. "Just tell me what it was, and I'll never do it again!"

"Sh, it's okay now," the words of comfort fell automatically from his mouth as he rocked the fourteen year old like he had when Dick had been a child of eight. "Everything will be all right, Dickie. I've got you now. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

A few minutes more, and Bruce hugged the boy closer. "Dick?"

Immediately, Dick's face tilted up. Hope, like a ray of light, seemed to radiate from the boy. As they stared at one another, recognition seemed to finally kick in.

It _was_ him! He was back! Bruce gasped in amazement. Tears prickled behind his eyes. Dick, his son, had been returned to him! He looked hard, but no sign of insanity remained in those clear blue eyes!

There would have to be tests and Dick would need to be carefully monitored and supervised for a long time coming, but unless he was wrong, and Bruce was growing more and more confident that he was right . . . His son had returned!

 _Dick was home_!

* * *

Three months later, Dick was sitting in a chair across from Black Canary. Bruce and Alfred sat near the door behind him. It was just a precaution, and one that Canary thought they might skip the next time. There had been no relapses; not once since that evening Bruce had discovered Alfred bleeding in the kitchen and Dick weeping in his cell. It was like those six months had been nothing more than a horrible nightmare.

"We've talked about the last things you remembered," Canary was saying.

Dick shuddered; obviously remembering bits and pieces of the night he had cured Jack Napier, a chemist that had fallen into a vat of chemicals and presumed dead, of insanity.

"Now, I want you to tell me about the first thing you remember," she finished.

Dick frowned; his legs drawing up into the chair so he could wrap his arms around them. He had grown quite a bit over the last nine months and the chair was barely big enough for the habit.

"I . . . I remember," Dick paused, uncomfortable.

"It's all right," Canary assured him. "You're safe here. No one's judging you for your actions while under the influence."

A blush rose over the boy's cheeks, and he bit his lip nervously as he settled his chin on his knees. The horror he had exhibited over Alfred's hand could not be faked. Dick had followed the butler around for weeks after that trying to make up for his misdeed by helping him in his daily activities.

Many a tear had been shed before the fear had faded enough from the elder man's eyes that he could tolerate Dick's presence without Bruce acting as a buffer. How many times had Bruce been awakened by the sounds of the boy's tears in the night because of the damage done to his and the old man's relationship?

He glanced over at Alfred. That fear had long been replaced with the return of the man's overwhelming love. Forgiveness had long since been given for an act that could not be attributed directly to the teenaged boy in front of them. If anything, the grandfatherly bond between the two of them had been strengthened and forged by the fire into unbreakable steel.

"Go on," Canary encouraged.

They had never spoken aloud with Dick about what it was that had brought his sanity back to him. The two men leaned forward, curious.

"I . . . remember," Dick began again, taking a fortifying breath. "Suffocating."

Bruce blinked. He and Alfred exchanged glances.

"I was being smothered by something thick and heavy and . . . noxious. It was almost like drowning, but . . . not." He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "More like being wrapped up in thick blankets that continually tried to cover my mouth and nose no matter how I tried to fight my way free of them. I would open my mouth to scream for help, but the heavy material would attempt to shove itself down the back of my throat."

Bruce shifted under the uncomfortable images.

"It was like it wanted to eat me up, but from the inside out," Dick told them. He paused to wipe his eyes, muttering an apology.

"Th-That day . . ." his voice cracked. "It was winning. I couldn't seem to fight it anymore. But I . . . There was something different happening. I don't know how to explain it."

"It's okay, Dick," Canary leaned forward to pat Dick's foot where it rested on the chair's seat. "Take your time."

"I tasted copper in my mouth," he said softly; almost a whisper. "Like new pennies . . . Like . . . blood." His head turned a little as he was reminded of Bruce and Alfred's presence behind him. "I choked."

Bruce and Alfred looked at one another again. So, the boy _had_ been choking, but only _after_ he had bitten Alfred's hand and drawn blood.

"I began coughing," he admitted quietly. "I coughed and coughed and the thing that had been trying to strangle me came out then. It looked like a shadow," he said. "It darted into a corner and seemed to fade away. Suddenly, I could breathe again."

Bruce remembered flirting with the idea that Dick had been possessed rather than insane. Was that what had happened to Jack Napier? The . . . demon of insanity had been drawn out of him and into Dick? A chill crawled up his back.

Canary's gaze slicked up to meet Bruce's. She appeared disturbed by Dick's narration as well. She quickly schooled her features.

"And then what do you remember?"

"I was sitting in a room with padded walls," Dick shuddered again. "I was bundled up in a strait jacket and cuffed to a bed. There were no windows anywhere. I didn't know where I was . . . I thought that maybe I was in a hospital, but then I thought that because of the restraints that maybe I had been taken to Arkham."

That was why he had been crying when Bruce had entered his cell. Dick had always been afraid of Arkham.

"Bruce came in after a while and began yelling at me," Dick murmured. "I guess that I had attacked Alfred earlier." The blush returned and Dick ducked his head in shame.

He didn't mention that Bruce had manhandled him. He didn't need to. The guilt and regret Bruce had predicted he would feel over those actions returned with a vengeance. But he hadn't known . . . Had no way of knowing that Dick's sanity had returned.

"It took a while, but he finally calmed down enough to realize that I was me again," Dick ended. "And now here I am, talking with you twice a week."

"I think it's time we reduce that to once every other week," she offered. "If you're okay with that?"

Dick appeared startled by the offer. He turned in the chair to confer with Bruce.

"Is that okay with you," he asked the elder man hesitantly.

Bruce knew Dick was well aware of people's skittishness around him. He wanted so much to be trusted again; for people to not create excuses to escape his presence. Bruce realized he was afraid that by reducing his therapy sessions, it would make people worry that he could relapse. Mental illness was so different from physical illness. No one questioned that Dick was physically healed, but the mind was a tricky thing and everyone here had trouble forgetting those first few weeks of Dick's violence and constant, manic laughter.

"It is," he told them confidently. He wanted Dick to know that Bruce trusted him.

A smile flickered over Dick's face before he turned back to Black Canary. "If you're both good with it, then so am I," he told her.

She smiled and stood up; signaling the end of the session. "Now, if you aren't in a hurry," she said. "I have someone here who would very much like to see you."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Dick's smile suddenly vanished.

"W-Who?" His eyes were huge.

Canary laid a hand on his shoulder to calm him and stroked down his arm to catch Dick's hand in her own. "Wally's been asking about you forever now."

Dick's breath hitched and, even from a distance, Bruce could see the sheen of tears. He was suddenly nervous for the boy. Wally had been a good friend. He had visited Dick at the Watchtower every day for a couple of weeks before he couldn't stand seeing his friend like that anymore. He had still called often to ask after Dick, but he had been as afraid of facing the younger boy as much as any of them.

Dick was fragile right now. If Wally spoke carelessly or acted suspiciously, Dick would retreat into himself and become depressed. But there was the potential for something good to happen here as well. Wally was nothing if not loyal.

Ultimately, though, it would be Dick's decision.

"Are you okay with that," Canary asked. "You don't have to see him if you don't want to."

"O-Okay," he stammered nervously.

Bruce and Alfred moved up to stand behind him. It was a move of solidarity, but he wondered, when Dick glanced at them, if the boy thought that they were worried he might snap. So, Bruce did something he didn't normally do in public settings; he patted his son's shoulder and reassured him.

"You'll be fine. We're here if _you_ need us," he said, carefully emphasizing the word 'you'. "Wally's been a constant throughout this whole thing. He always called every week for updates on your progress."

"Really?" Dick blinked at him.

And he realized that by not sharing that information he had inadvertently hurt his son.

"Yes, really. I should have mentioned that long before now," Bruce sighed. He squeezed Dick's shoulder as a way of apologizing.

Bruce was rewarded by feeling the tension in his boy's shoulders ease right as Canary opened the door and allowed the ginger-haired speedster to enter the room.

Wally had gotten taller as well. He stood eye to eye with Black Canary now. His green gaze searched out the object of interest immediately. A hesitant smile quirked up the redhead's lips.

"Rob?"

Dick's hand went up to his exposed eyes, startled. "Uh . . . Hi, Wally. You're looking better than you did when I last saw you."

Wally looked confused for a moment, and then seemed to realize that Dick didn't remember the intervening months between that night and now.

"Heh! Yeah, so do you," he replied with an easy grin. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

Dick ran a hand through his raven hair nervously. "I, uh, guess you know who I am now?"

Wally smirked. "Richard Grayson, adopted son of billionaire Bruce Wayne. Yeah, we were all told after the first week."

"You can call me Dick."

Wally looked startled for a moment, and then laughed. "Yeah, sure, buddy."

Dick blushed despite being long used to the jokes about his nickname, but began laughing with him after a second. Wally went silent. Dick's laughter dwindled in his confusion.

"What," Dick asked confused.

After a moment of staring, Wally suddenly grinned. "Ah, it's nothing," he said. "I just really missed that laugh, that all."

"Ri-i-ight," Dick smirked. "You always told me it was creepy."

Wally zipped over to his friend and flung an arm around his shoulders. "Nah! It's not creepy at all. Trust me! In fact, I'd have to say it's downright beautiful!"

Dick laughed again. "What? No way . . ."

"Oh yes," Wally assured him. "Trust me, dude! _Your_ laughter is like birdsong to me now!"

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **You'll be happy to know that ENDING TWO can be considered happy-ISH as well . . .**

 **The ENDINGS will have certain aspects that will be repeated throughout each of them, while other parts will change due to different reactions of the characters and different decisions made. Obviously, Dick's ability to overcome the Joker's madness will vary between the different ENDINGS.**

 **MoD 2: Renewable has reached over 20,000 views as of this posting . . . Thank you all who have followed the story so faithfully! :D**


	44. ENDING TWO

**ENDING TWO: You'll be pleased to know this one isn't all sad! This version is set one year later . . .**

 **WARNINGS: Strong Language and Some Mention of Illegal Drugs . . .**

* * *

"The way I understand it, there are seven power levels on the MoD laser," J'onn was explaining.

It had taken almost a year, but Batman had tracked down one of the scientists that had worked on the MoD project. Of course, it wasn't referred to as the MoD in the project files. That name, the Machine o' Doom, was a moniker that Kid Flash had bestowed on the laser that the team had discovered while searching out information on a different weapon altogether; the Red Sun Laser Rifle. It was a name that had caught on, however. So much so that this was what the League called it; much to the consternation of one of the scientists that had worked on it.

Martian Manhunter had searched the mind of Dr. Steven Ellsworth. He was not the project head, however. Apparently _that_ man, the one whose research had created the MoD, had effectively disappeared along with the Red Sun Laser Rifle, but Dr. Ellsworth was someone with a basic working knowledge about the machine; their best hope.

"When Kid Flash shot Robin with the MoD, had the setting had been on the highest level?" He asked this of the Batman.

"Seven," he confirmed.

J'onn nodded. "This seventh level had never before been tested because every test subject that had been exposed to level six had died from the damage the laser had inflicted. No amount of accelerated healing had been able to correct the damage in time to save the person. Thus it was assumed that level seven would be more of the same. In truth, they believed that anything hit with a level seven beam would result in the actual disintegration of the test subject. No one had ever dreamed that the device would be able to impart the ability to heal others, let alone grant immortality.

"Future tests were planned on inanimate objects, but you confiscated the laser, and then the files had been subjected to an unknown computer virus before that had occurred," J'onn continued. "It had been considered too great a security risk to keep the file in its hard copy form."

"An unknown computer virus that Robin, himself, delivered," Batman shook his head.

"Ironic," J'onn commented.

"Too much so," Batman agreed in a growl.

The anniversary of the date that Wallace had accidentally shot Dick with the laser was fast approaching; ten months after the day that Robin had used his newborn ability to 'heal' the Joker of his insanity; only seven days from the day that Batman finally tracked down Steven Ellsworth's name and his latest address . . . The last of the five addresses that Ellsworth had had over the past year as the junior scientist on the MoD project attempted his own hand at disappearing. Just five days from now . . .

"If level six caused the test subjects to die, why didn't level seven?" Batman wondered this aloud.

"I asked Dr. Ellsworth that question and he postulated that obviously level seven _did_ kill its subjects, but it also gave them the ability to counteract death itself. Level six, while lethal, did not give the subject enough of the healing factor to be able to reverse the death of the subject. Neither had any previous level test subject possess the ability to absorb injuries and heal others as Robin has demonstrated." J'onn told him. "Apparently, this is an ability granted only to someone exposed to the seventh level."

"So, has any of their previous test subjects lost their abilities to heal?"

"Not that he is aware of," Manhunter replied. "Neither had testing gotten to the point where anyone attempted to remove the healing factor. This is all previously uncharted territory."

"Has anyone ever been exposed to the laser more than once?" Batman asked.

"No, again," J'onn shook his head. "But there were several theories that had been made, but never tested, on that subject."

"Such as?"

"It is generally believed that a second exposure could possibly remove the previously bestowed healing factor. But that is only one theory."

Batman frowned. "And the others?"

"I explained Robin's current predicament to the doctor," J'onn began.

"What?! You had no right," Batman swung around; glaring.

"I do not intend to leave him with the knowledge, my friend," J'onn assured him. "I felt that I could get the best answers to our questions in the fastest manner if the doctor had full disclosure. When we are finished, I will not only relieve him of any knowledge of the team and Robin's condition, but also of his own knowledge of the MoD device in general."

"And these stolen memories . . . He will not be able to retrieve them at another time through other means? Such as hypnosis or by using another telepath?"

"They will be permanently expunged from his mind," the Martian said, confidently. "I will leave nothing left to be retrieved. He will go from here with memories of a pleasant vacation in the Bahamas and it will be as if the project never existed."

Although the Bat breathed a little easier; the tension in his posture had not decreased in the least. The entire League was well aware of the unrelieved pressure that had sat upon the Batman's shoulders over the past year. It was why J'onn had been willing to go above and beyond his own personal moral limits in search of the answers his colleague so desperately needed.

"The other theories, J'onn. What are they, and what ideas does the doctor have in terms of 'curing' Robin?"

Robin's 'condition' was a particularly nasty Jokerized strain of insanity that he had relieved the now infamous Jack Napier of ten months ago; a condition that had thus far proven to be beyond Robin's ability to overcome. It made no sense that the boy could heal the Joker, but remained incapable of healing himself; especially when death itself had no hold on him.

"The doctor was fascinated by a level seven subject, and seemed to take solving the problems that Robin is facing to heart." J'onn began again.

"Fascinated . . ." Batman muttered in disgust. Robin may only be a test subject for the scientist, but the boy was Batman's son!

"He admitted that a second jolt by the laser could result in that extra something that Robin needed to cure his insanity."

"He believes it could be possible, then, to cure the boy?" Batman was quick to latch onto that idea.

"It is but one possibility," the Martian reminded him gently. "You must hear them all before you make any decision over our next course of action."

"Of course," he grumbled. J'onn, he knew, meant well. All of the League had been fond of Robin, despite their falling out over Robin's recovery time after he had healed four of his teammates from death.

 _Had been_ . . . His jaw tightened. The League wasn't so much fond of the boy now as they were frightened by him. The first few weeks after Robin had absorbed the Joker's insanity had been fraught with trouble. The boy had escaped three times from his restraints and eventually from the cell they had been forced to keep him in. Even those who had not had to face down a violent and manic Robin were wary of the source of the constant laughter that had continually echoed through the halls and levels of the Watchtower.

"It is just as likely that a second exposure would do nothing at all," J'onn told him. "But another popular theory is that it would not only remove the healing factor, but conceivably Robin's own natural immunity with it."

If possible, Batman frowned harder. "Are you saying . . .?"

"That it could leave Robin with no ability to heal at all," The Martian admitted reluctantly. "He would remain at risk from every injury, no matter how small, and every strain of bacteria or virus that he'd ever be exposed to. It would be a death sentence, you realize. Without even a weakened immune system with which to defend himself, every scratch, every sniffle, every grain of dirt would hold the potential to kill him within a few short days; or weeks, if he was lucky."

"That isn't acceptable," Batman growled; pounding his fist on the countertop.

"It might also simply kill him outright," J'onn ended with a sigh. He met Batman's gaze. "I do not envy you your decision, my friend."

Batman was silent for several long minutes before speaking again.

"What theory does Dr. Ellsworth support," he asked.

The Martian held his counsel.

"Come on, J'onn. Ellsworth has to have an opinion on it. He knows the machine better than anyone else we've managed to track down, and you just finished telling me that you told him everything you knew about Robin's condition. Which theory does he favor?"

"Even so, the doctor's opinion would be nothing more than an educated guess," the Martian reminded him.

"J'onn," Batman pressed.

"He believes that any level above five would kill Robin outright," J'onn admitted. "Injuring him beyond repair even as it removed his accelerated healing ability."

"But level five or lower would not," Batman surmised.

"That is his guess."

"But would anything at those levels enable him to battle the insanity? Help him come back to himself?"

J'onn shook his head. "Please keep in mind that there is no way to know for certain what the outcome of a second exposure to the laser would be until it had been done, but . . . it is the doctor's opinion that the laser would merely remove Robin's healing factor."

Batman turned away in frustration and anger. He didn't want to take out his rage at this situation on his colleague.

"However," J'onn continued. His unwillingness to share this next piece was obvious in tone of his voice, but he valued Batman's friendship too much to keep the information from him. "The doctor did have a suggestion; a potential solution to Robin's predicament."

One did not have to see Batman's eyes behind those opaque lenses to know that a desperate hope flared within them.

"What is it? Tell me, J'onn! At this point, I'm willing to try _anything_."

"And that, my friend, is what frightens me." J'onn sighed.

* * *

"Today will be the day. I'm just calling to tell you that I'll be home in another couple of hours. I'm going to the Watchtower from here. I have a few things left I need to accomplish before I head home and we do this thing."

Alfred knew by the caller ID that the master was calling from his office at Wayne Enterprises. "Sir, I must insist that you reconsider this plan," he said. "I feel that it is ill-advised and will result in far worse circumstances for everyone involved."

"It's done, Alfred. I've already made all the arrangements, taken care of all the documents; crossed every T and dotted every I."

"You are wrong, sir," he couldn't emphasize this enough. Alfred was afraid; more afraid than he had ever been before.

"I promised to take care of him, Alfred. I _swore_ to Dick; I swore to the courts; I swore on his parents' _grave_ that I would give him a life! You know as well as I do that what he has now is no a life at all!"

"You promised him a _father_!"

"You raised me, Alfred. You were the best father I could have hoped for outside of my own. I've never thanked you enough for that. You'll not have any trouble from CPS this time through, however. Everything should go smoothly."

Alfred gripped the phone in his hand so tightly, he wouldn't be surprised if he cracked the housing. "You mustn't do this, sir! It is dangerous . . . For the very reason that you have chosen to keep Master Dick confined here at the manor instead of in Arkham!"

"It will not be a problem. As I have said, arrangements have been made . . ."

"And what arrangements might those be? Condemning Master Dick to the same torture you've suffered over the past year, sir? Caring for you while simultaneously making certain that Gotham and the world are safe from you? What makes you think Master Dick would thank you for taking away his second father and forcing him to be, instead of your son, your jailor?"

Master Bruce's heavy sigh came through the phone line. "You don't understand . . ."

"Why don't you make me understand, then? How will this be any different with you than what Master Dick has already experienced?"

"An intravenous injection of benzoylmethylecgonine," The younger man answered him.

Alfred blinked. Benzoylmethyl . . . "You're talking about cocaine."

"Yes, approximately ten grams pure in a mythyl Salicylate solution."

"Ten grams? In one injection? That is far above the lethal dose for cocaine, and mixed in the solution you describe . . . It could very likely induce a stroke! Indeed, sir, it would almost guarantee that you would suffer a massive stroke, that is, if your heart didn't explode first," Alfred exclaimed.

"All of which would reduce the likelihood of my escape should something go wrong and I somehow, miraculously, survive. If that becomes the case, your instructions will be to place me in Arkham, but I would much prefer that the drug be left alone to do its job." Master Bruce explained patiently.

"It's suicide . . ."

"I chose cocaine because of Bruce Wayne's reputation for wild behavior. It is more likely that the medical examiner would rule it to be an accidental overdose. I would prefer to avoid the stigma of suicide for Dick's sake."

Alfred interrupted; scoffing derisively. "Master Dick's sake?! As if the stigma that comes from his father dying of an overdose while using an illegal recreational drug is so much the better!"

Bruce continued as if Alfred hadn't spoken. "It would also reduce the risk that the insurance company . . ."

"Sir, please stop. The very idea that that boy would rather have your money than you is absolutely ludicrous, and you know it!"

"Right now, Alfred, he has both me and my money, and neither of us are doing him one damned bit of good! I _promised_ him, Alfred! I promised him a better life than what I had, and right now, he doesn't even have _that_ ," Bruce yelled over the phone. The younger man's frustration had caused his voice to crack heartbreakingly at the end of his rant.

"Master Bruce, I beg of you, _please_! If you love that boy . . ." His voice trailed off as Alfred ran out of words to relay his sense of urgency. He couldn't believe he was even arguing this subject.

There was a long pause before Master Bruce continued, speaking very deliberately.

"It is exactly _because_ I love him, Alfred, that I do this! I cannot ask another to do this in my stead. Dick is my responsibility . . . Surely, you can understand that. He's my _son_!"

"Sir, I must protest!" But there was no one on the line to listen anymore. Master Bruce had hung up.

Alfred's hand was shaking as he gently returned the phone to the cradle. Was he destined to lose one or the other of his boys? As horrendous as the previous year had been, Alfred could not see any bright future in store by traveling down this dark and dismal road.

It was a mistake. A most grievous and tragic mistake . . .

The arrangements had all been made Master Bruce had declared. He had watched the man he had raised spend the past five days rushing about as he prepared to do this terrible thing. Alfred took a breath, tugged his jacket straight, and marched toward Master Bruce's office and the grandfather clock, preparing to do what he always did before an important event. He would check to see if everything was indeed in order.

Alfred was nothing if not thorough and conscientious in the performance of his duties.

Master Dick was his son, Master Bruce had declared. Alfred understood what he was trying to say perfectly.

"As you are mine, my boy," Alfred whispered; moving the hands on the clock face to the designated time. The clock swung open revealing the secret passage beyond. "As you are mine."

* * *

The Zeta tube flared, bathing areas of the cave never before illuminated in a flash of bright, white light. What few bats lingered in this part of the cave flew away in agitation. When the light died down, two new people stood where before the platform had been empty.

"I happen to agree with Alfred, Bruce. This is crazy!" Superman followed the Caped Crusader into the central part of the Batcave, resuming an argument that had obviously been raging for a while.

"Your opinion has been duly noted, Clark, and summarily dismissed." Batman stalked in the direction of the changing room. "Nothing is going to change my mind."

"Bruce, please," Clark begged. "He wouldn't want this! You _know_ that he wouldn't want this!"

Bruce spun about; his cape swirling about him dramatically. "Are you going to be able to do your part, Clark? Or do I need to ask J'onn to replace you?"

Superman's face settled into an expression of sadness, but also one of resignation. "No. No, if you are going to do this thing, I need to be here, and not just for you. That boy is going to be . . ." Superman looked up suddenly.

"Did you hear that," he gasped.

Of course Batman didn't, but he knew without saying what it was the Kryptonian was hearing. He ran.

"Screaming . . . Bruce, someone is screaming!" Superman didn't bother with the stairs, but flew past his friend toward the hidden door.

" ** _Go_**! Don't stop," Batman yelled at him. "Just go!"

* * *

Superman burst through the hidden door without pausing to deactivate the locks, and the clock shattered; its pieces exploding inward throughout the office like a bomb had just gone off. He didn't bother stopping to assess; he had already scanned the room and determined that it had been void of people before ever reaching it. The screams weren't emanating from Bruce's office!

He flew on ahead, down the corridor and into the entry, and then on up the stairs. He flew up toward the third level where he knew Dick's cell to be located. The screams took on a different tone. Fear gripped him, and he poured on an extra burst of speed only to come to a complete halt at the landing.

Superman stared down the long corridor.

The last time he had been here had been nine months ago, when he, Green Lantern, and the Martian Manhunter had assisted Batman in creating a special cell; one that Batman himself could not escape. Superman had shuddered at the thought of being restrained in that small, 12X12, padded cell without even a window to allow in natural light.

There had been a skylight originally, but even that had to be removed to prevent the brilliant boy with the mad acrobatic skills and all the time in the world from using it to escape. An extra small, but powerful ventilation system kept the room climate controlled and supplied fresh air. Something small enough that Dick wouldn't have a hope of fitting through, even should he reach it; positioned as it was in the high, high ceiling.

It contained only a metal cot that was bolted into the wall and the floor and the restraints that were similarly welded permanently into the cot. Its door was titanium steel and five inches thick with a small window of bulletproof glass. He had thought it was a bit overkill, but Bruce had insisted. The locking mechanism was mechanical; odd in the high tech world of the Batman, but Bruce had feared the boy getting his hands on the wires and bypassing the security codes. So, old-fashioned keys were used.

There were only two; one for Bruce and Alfred respectively; even the doctor couldn't enter without the knowledge and consent of one of the men. With no internal mechanism to open the door from the inside, whoever entered was trapped unless or until the person waiting in the hallway opened it for them from the outside. A specialized monitoring system kept the boy's caretakers abreast of his actions and those of anyone traversing the hall.

He knew that Bruce and Alfred both had moved their own sleeping quarters to this floor as well, in order to better care for and guard the boy kept contained here. Unlike the rest of the hallways within the manor, this one remained completely unadorned with the exception of one bare side table next to Dick's cell. The less likely that any decorations could be used as either a weapon or a tool to aid in the possible escape of the manor's lone prisoner.

A prisoner that currently was standing in the hallway alone and unguarded.

The boy was struggling to escape his specially-modified strait jacket, and was doing a decent job at it. Why this did not alarm the Man of Steel was because Dick was not laughing. He _was_ the person screaming, however.

"Alfred! Alfred, no! No," Dick cried hysterically. His tears were visible easily even in the dim lighting of the corridor without the use of super vision. He had one arm free and was currently pounding on the closed door.

"Dick!"

The boy spun to face him even as he backed up several steps in fear and hesitation.

"Superman?" He gasped. "Uncle Clark?"

Superman flew quickly down the hallway and caught up the confused, young teenager in his arms.

"Dick! You're back," he cried, as he began tearing at the buckles and pulling the offending jacket from the boy's body.

He gasped at the sight of bruises and scrapes and tears that marred the boy's body. But even as he looked and took note of them, they slowly faded from sight. Dick looked thin and pale, but healthy again otherwise. The healing factor still at work.

Dick threw his arms around Superman's neck as he sobbed. "I don't understand," he wept. "Alfred threw me out of that awful room and slammed the door!"

"Easy, Dick. It's going to be alright," Clark crooned; running a hand through the shiny, dark hair in an effort to comfort the boy. He only hoped he wasn't lying.

"Where am I?" Dick asked this, not recognizing the manor in the stark hallway. But Clark didn't have time to answer.

Pounding feet announced the arrival of Batman.

* * *

Climbing the stairs to the third level, Batman tried to prepare himself for what he might find. The screams had been horrific enough to freeze the blood in his veins. As he hit the landing and turned, he stumbled to a halt.

Dick.

Dick on the outside of the door . . . Clutching Clark like he was his last lifeline.

Not laughing. For the first time in a year, that grotesque grin was nowhere to be found.

" ** _Dick_**!" The cry came out hoarse and maybe a bit desperate. Bruce yanked the cowl from his head.

The boy's head shot up. Even at this distance; even in the light of the fading sun, Bruce could see the glistening of tears in his son's eyes.

" ** _Dad_**!"

Dick immediately started squirming; struggling to get down. Clark barely had time to release him. As soon as he touched the ground, Dick was running, bare-chested and barefoot, only in his pajama bottoms, toward him. Bruce dropped to his knees and held out his arms. He still outweighed the now fourteen year old by a hundred pounds or more, but when his son barreled into him, the force was almost enough to send them both tumbling back down the stairs.

He had no words . . . For however long it was, several long minutes or hours, Bruce could do nothing but hold the sobbing boy in his arms and weep with him.

His son . . .

His son had been returned to him.

The past year had been far harder to deal with than those two weeks when it had been supposed that the boy was dead. Perhaps because Bruce never succumbed to the idea that Dick was gone then. But after absorbing the damned clown's warped psyche, two weeks had passed, and then four, with no hint that the mania was fading; no indication that anyone sane was even home, real fear began to sink claws into his heart.

Upon making the decision to bring Dick home, Bruce began designing a cell capable of holding the Batman. Dick was an expert at hacking; no electronic lock would be capable of holding him for long, as had been evidenced upon the Watchtower. He was second only to Bruce himself at picking locks. And the boy's uncanny ability to defy the laws of gravity using his acrobatics meant that even high vaulted ceilings were not out of his determined reach.

The heavy titanium door with the small bulletproof window had separated them for all but a few short hours a week. Opening only when it had been necessary to clean the boy or the room, or when new restraints had to be applied.

This, the simple luxury of just holding his son without having to wrestle with him; without having to hold him down, had been denied him for a solid year. Bruce was not a particularly affectionate person. He did not cling; he did not cuddle. But letting go was difficult. He looked up to see Clark hugging himself as he looked on their reunion with a sappy smile . . . It still wasn't enough to make him relinquish the boy.

But then Clark looked through the window into the cell. His hand traveled up to his face to cover his mouth. Bruce raised his head to watch without moving.

A loud thump sounded, as if something heavy was thrown against the steel. Although Clark didn't flinch, his eyes widened in alarm. Bruce's hand tightened on Dick's shoulders and the boy loosened his own hold to glance back over his shoulder toward the cell.

It was then that the sounds of laughter arose. It was almost familiar; starting slowly at first and steadily rising in volume.

Dick's face crumpled once more. "What did Alfred _do_? I don't understand what's happening! Why was I in that room?"

His words sounded vaguely reminiscent of those of Jack Napier; making Bruce wonder if Dick would remember anything that had happened during the past year. Napier hadn't, which was probably a good thing. The memories of what the man had done as the Joker would have driven him mad all over again.

"Alfred . . ." Bruce couldn't bring himself to answer the boy. Not yet, anyway.

He rose to his feet, and after making sure Dick understood he was supposed to stay put, Bruce made his way reluctantly to the cell. Clark moved out of the way, but the sympathetic expression on his face made Bruce want to throw up. He forced himself to look through the glass.

His hand slapped the metal.

"No!"

His fingers pulled into a fist and he slammed it into the door.

" _NO_ ," he cried. "Alfred, why?!"

Manic laughter answered him and rose the hair on the back of his neck. But he knew why . . . And he hated it.

Bruce didn't realize he was still pounding on the door and yelling, until Clark pulled him back. Dick immediately wrapped his arms around his waist; confused, frightened by Alfred's nonstop cackling, and terrified by Bruce's obvious distress. One glance down at the boy, and Bruce regained control of himself. Although Dick didn't understand what had happened, the boy had decided that whatever it was, it was his fault.

But it wasn't.

Bruce dropped back down on one knee and pulled the boy back into his arms.

"Sh," he comforted his son. "This wasn't your fault," he assured Dick.

It was his.

"I can fix this, son. Don't worry," Bruce promised him.

He knew better than anyone how important family was. He understood that his mission was ultimately his responsibility, and he had dropped the ball. First Dick had been forced to try and retrieve it; and now Alfred, but it been his fumble . . . _His_ fault.

But he could still make this right.

With that thought in mind, Bruce stood up and pushed Dick into Clark's arms. He turned on his heel and moved back up the hallway with a determined stride. Seconds later, he could hear the footsteps of Dick and Clark racing after him.

"Bruce, stop! You have to think this through," Clark resumed his argument. "This changes nothing!"

"You're right," Bruce agreed. "It changes nothing. Everything will continue as planned."

"You can't do this! You just got Dick back," Clark reminded him; pausing only to pick the teenager up so that Dick wouldn't cut his feet on the slivered wood and glass. "You can't just leave him now," he argued as they followed the Dark Knight back down to the cave.

"What," Dick stammered. "You're leaving?"

Superman sat Dick down at the bottom of the stairs and flew in front of his grieving friend. "Bruce, stop and think a minute! Alfred was merely doing what you were willing to do. He knew as well as I do that you are too important to Dick; to Gotham! You are far too dangerous to risk in this way."

"What the hell," Batman interrupted. He ignored Superman's arguments to push past the Man of Steel. He quickly descended upon the table that had been set up in the middle of the main room of the cavern.

The MoD sat perched upon the utilitarian table where Batman had placed it several days before in preparation for this day. They had ran up to the manor too quickly to have noticed it earlier, but a quick glance at the control panel confirmed what Batman already determined happened in his gut.

"Alfred, _no_!" Bruce gasped in disappointment and frustration. "You didn't . . ."

But he had . . . Alfred had destroyed the housing and broken the control panel. No one was using the machine again any time soon. The only scientist he knew who might be able to fix this had had his mind erased four days ago. Perhaps J'onn still retained some of the knowledge of how the MoD worked, but the Martian didn't always keep the all of the information he pulled from people. Some things he expunged. Had he this?

"B-Bruce? Dad? What's going on? Please," Dick begged. "I-I'm . . ." his voice tapered off.

Bruce turned around and looked at his son. Only a week ago, he had had no hope of ever seeing Dick standing in the Batcave again. Despite the horror of losing Alfred to this madness, he was grateful to see his boy looking out of his own eyes for the first time in a year.

He walked over to wear Dick stood shaking near the stairs. Pulling off his cape, Bruce draped it over his son's shoulders to help ward off the chill of the cave.

"You're what," he asked gently.

Helpless blue eyes looked up at him. Beautiful, clear blue eyes without a hint of madness in them . . . Dick's lids dropped down then, shielding them.

"I-I . . ." he began again; head hanging now. "I'm s-scared."

What had it taken Dick to have admitted that to him? The boy had to be terrified. Although a year had passed and Dick had managed to grow another inch or so, he was still small for his age. Although he was too old for this, Bruce picked him up anyway, and held him close.

He had wasted so much time. When Dick had lost his mind to the Joker's insanity, Bruce had suddenly remembered all those times that he could have hugged his son and told him that he was loved, but instead had let the moments pass by without acting on them. And he had realized then, with a sickening dismay, that he might never have that opportunity again.

"Bruce?" Dick whispered in his ear. "What did I do that I had to be locked up in that room? Why did Alfred throw me out of it and lock himself inside?"

Bruce walked over to his computer chair and sat down. Dick was too big really to sit in his lap, but his arms kept him in place when the boy might have moved. Bruce wasn't ready to let go yet. At this moment, he wasn't sure he would ever be ready.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Dick was silent for a long moment. Finally he shuddered. "Drowning," he said softly.

Bruce frowned at the image. Dick had never been placed into that kind of situation during that last mission, and certainly not since then.

"Explain," he ordered gruffly, but softened it by squeezing Dick's shoulder.

"I remember drowning in a sort of thick, black sludge. And there was laughter, Bruce," he told him. "There was someone there, laughing at me, all the while I was fighting for my life."

Bruce decided to just go with what Dick was telling him. "Did you see who it was?"

He could see on his son's face that he was struggling not to break down again. The boy's breath hitched, and despite it all, the tears still formed and dripped off of those long, black lashes to roll down his face. The tremors began again, but this time it wasn't from the chill.

"H-He pushed me down. Tried to pull me under. He was everywhere and nowhere," Dick wept. "I couldn't fight him. There was nothing to grab onto." He leaned into Bruce's shoulder.

Bruce looked up at Clark, still standing by the table that held the MoD, as he ran his fingers through Dick's hair in an effort to comfort him. The boy was going to need some therapy to get through this.

"Bruce," Dick sighed as he calmed down a few minutes later. "What's happening to Alfred . . . Is that because of me?"

"No . . ."

"Don't lie to me." The boy sounded exhausted. "Please, Bruce. Just . . . don't."

"Do you remember going after the Joker with the team," Bruce asked him.

After a moment, Dick stiffened. Bruce held him tightly; refusing to allow the boy to rise up.

"You do, then."

"The team . . .?"

"Your friends survived," Bruce told him carefully.

He wasn't lying, but he wasn't prepared to tell Dick that they weren't a team anymore. In fact, other than Superboy, none of the others chose to continue fighting crime. Wally would, on occasion, if the situation was dire enough, but he chose to keep close to home and Artemis. Artemis had been disfigured by the Joker's acid and had lost some mobility in her right arm. Her leg had needed to be amputated following an infection. That she was recovering at all was due to Wally's loyalty and attention.

M'gann had returned to Mars for treatment of her electrical burns and had so far not returned to earth. J'onn didn't speak of her recovery nor mentioned if or when she might return to earth in the future.

Aqualad had been forced to retire. He had gone through several grafting surgeries during the last year and finally returned permanently to Atlantis to have his body's treatment continued there. Physically, there was nothing more the surface world could do for him. Magic was now being used to attempt to repair the damage done by Joker's torture. Psychologically, Aquaman was cautiously hopeful that the young man's nightmares would cease eventually.

None of this, Bruce felt Dick was ready to handle at this point. Particularly when Dick had been more than capable of healing them, even throughout his period of insanity. Even _had_ Bruce allowed it, and he might have knowing that Dick would have not wanted his friends to suffer; the team had refused when the subject was brought up.

"Do you remember what you did to stop the Joker," Bruce asked.

Dick's breath caught. He glanced up, startled. "I-I healed him? Did it work?"

"Maybe a little too well, chum," Bruce murmured. "You absorbed his insanity."

The teen's eyes widened in shock. "I didn't hurt anybody, did I?"

"The thing you need to understand," Bruce said, wanting to avoid answering that question for as long as possible, "is that your healing factor took the insanity from the Joker, but it couldn't heal you."

Dick frowned. "What do you mean? I'm okay now, aren't I?"

Bruce pulled his son into his embrace; resting his cheek on the top of the boy's head. "Yes," he declared; blinking rapidly to dispel the moisture gathering in his eyes. "Yes, thank God, you're okay now! But . . . you didn't heal yourself. It was necessary to use Wally's Machine of Doom to give someone else the healing factor, so that he could heal you of the Joker's madness."

Dick was silent for a moment. "But if I couldn't heal myself of the madness; what hope would the person saving me have of doing it? Wouldn't _he_ be trapped with it then?"

"Yes," Bruce whispered. "He would."

It took no time before the implications hit him. Dick shoved away from Bruce and scrambled off of his lap, alarm and dread fighting for dominance on his face. His gaze traveled from Bruce to Superman and back.

"Alfred?!"

Bruce dropped his gaze. "It wasn't supposed to have been him. Alfred took it upon himself to do this thing while I was at the Watchtower."

Dick stumbled back until he bumped into a counter. "S-So, how do we fix him?"

"We can't. He broke the MoD after he used it," he told him.

"What does that mean," Dick demanded. "We can't leave him like that!"

Bruce's face hardened. "I have no intention of leaving him like that! We are going to have to repair the MoD first, and then I will use it to heal him."

The teen frowned. "If the machine could have healed this, then why did Alfred use it on himself. I don't understand."

"The machine isn't able to heal the insanity, Dick. It only gives someone else the ability to absorb it," Bruce explained slowly. _Would he get it_?

"What?" He stared at the two men. "Does that mean that Alfred is stuck like that forever?"

"Forever is a long time, chum," Bruce said, cautiously. He didn't want to imagine a reality that harbored an immortal Joker. "We don't know how long it might take the healing factor to eventually expunge the madness on its own, but it could take a while." If ever . . .

"How long did I have it? Longer than two weeks, I imagine," Dick guessed. "That's how long it took me to heal from the deaths of four of my teammates, but you had waited for me then."

Superman stepped forward, inserting himself into what had been a private conversation. He didn't want Bruce to have to tell Dick this hard truth himself. Better if the teen heard it from him.

"It's been a year, Dick," Clark told him. "You've been suffering with the madness for one year today."

Dick's eyes darted back to Bruce for confirmation. He didn't even need the nod; Bruce's expression alone told him the truth. A year without even a glimmer of hope . . .

"Alfred . . ." the boy murmured.

His emotions were right there for anyone to see. It was why Bruce and Clark both were ready when Dick bolted toward the stairs.

"Dick! Stop! You can't . . ." Bruce yelled.

Clark had caught the boy before he made the stairs.

"Yes, I can," he shouted.

"Then . . . you shouldn't," Bruce elaborated in a calmer tone.

"But Alfred . . ."

"Alfred knew what he was doing, Dick. He understood what would happen because he's been here helping me care for you throughout this past year."

Dick looked back at his adopted father, shrewdly. "But _you_ were going to save him, weren't you? I mean, that's why you ran down here."

"I was going to save _you_ , chum," Bruce admitted. "That was supposed to have been me up there in that cell, not Alfred."

"You . . .?" Dick blinked. " _You_ were going to sacrifice yourself . . . For me? Even if there is no cure for it?"

"I promised you a life, Dick."

It sounded inane saying those words to him, and, if his expression was anything to go by, Dick thought so, too. Maybe Alfred and Clark had been right about that much.

"But . . ." Dick paused to lick his lips. His gaze flickered away momentarily before coming back. "But who would be here to take care of . . . of-of Gotham?"

That wasn't the question that had first flitted through the boy's mind.

"Is Gotham City really you're first concern," Bruce pressed. In the boy's state of mind, now was the time to see what his son was really thinking.

And, apparently, he was right as Dick's head snapped up, and anger flashed. "No! _No_! Were you really going to take Joker's madness? Even knowing that it may not be curable?"

"If it meant giving you your life back, then yes, I was. You deserve . . ."

"I deserve to be rotting upstairs in that padded cell! Not Alfred! And not _you_!" Dick argued, his voice rising in his agitation. " ** _I'm_** the one who made the decision. Why should anyone else have to give up anything?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Bruce couldn't allow such foolishness to stand. "You're fourteen years old! You have your entire life spread out in front of you!"

Dick's blinked; his mouth dropping open. It was one thing to hear a year had passed, but he had no memory of it. In his head, he was still thirteen.

"But what good would it do me without _you_ in it?!" Dick was finally yelling. "Who would be left to take care of _me_?"

There it was. It was out. The blush that rose up was bright red and Dick turned away, ashamed of his selfishness and his fear.

"Alfred was supposed to take care of you," Bruce murmured. "The arrangements . . ." He almost couldn't say it. The words had been so easy to say before, and now they choked him. ". . . Had all been made," he finished feebly.

The boy looked lost. His shoulders slumped and he shrugged out of Clark's grip. Bruce watched him walk over to a chair and sit down heavily. He dropped his head into his hands.

"You should have left me in there." Dick's voice was muffled behind his hands. "You should have dumped me off at Arkham and forgot about me."

Bruce moved over to where his son sat so dejected. He knelt in front of him and gently pulled his hands away. That his face was wet with tears came as no surprise. Bruce's vision was blurring as well.

"I would _never_ have placed you in Arkham," he declared; holding Dick's hands in his own. "This is your home, and it will always be your home!"

"I c-can't believe you would have . . ." Dick paused, gasping as the implications of what Bruce's sacrifice would have incurred became clear. "Oh God! A jokerized Batman?" The idea was terrifying. "How would we have ever confined you? If you escaped . . .?"

Bruce swallowed. "That wouldn't have happened," he assured him.

"An immortal jokerized Batman!" Dick gaped at him. "What were you thinking? Bruce!"

"I had prepared for that," he told the boy. "That's why Superman is here."

But Dick was too worked up. "What good would that do if you could heal everything? You're a freaking escape artist! It would only be a matter of time before . . ."

"I took all of that into consideration," Bruce interrupted him. "I had a plan in place to prevent that."

Clark laid a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Maybe you shouldn't go into all of that right now." Admitting that Bruce was prepared to die in order to keep the world safe from him wasn't what the boy needed to hear.

"How would I ever have lived with myself if you did that," Dick asked in a whisper. "And now . . . Now, we've lost Alfred!"

"No! You did nothing wrong, son," Bruce assured him. "You only tried to stop the Joker for good in a way that preserved life. Your heart was in the right place."

His face crumpled again. "Alfred . . ."

At the moment, Bruce couldn't see a way to fix this; at least not easily. Alfred had taken things into his own hands. He held Dick helplessly as the boy wept for the grandfather Bruce understood that the teen had seen the elder man as. It was all Bruce could do not to join him, but his mind wouldn't leave him alone to grieve for Alfred's sacrifice.

He was realizing that the danger had not lessened much despite that it wasn't Batman or Robin in that locked room. Clark was correct that the family's butler was far more than any mere servant. Batman's majordomo was a danger in and of himself.

"We'll take care of Alfred," he said, although at the moment, Bruce had no clear idea how he was going to accomplish that.

With the MoD disabled, he couldn't use it to remove Alfred's healing ability and inject him with the overdose, even if he could have managed it. The death was to be his own. Bruce knew in his heart he didn't have it in him to end the man who had taken his father place in his life. Other plans would have to be made; plans that might have once been followed to care for the Boy Wonder, but now instead Alfred. Other arrangements . . .

* * *

"Thanks for coming with me, Wally," Dick told his friend. "Usually I come alone, but today is harder than usual."

Wally laid a comforting hand on his best friend's shoulder. "You only had to ask," he murmured. "All of this . . . It was my fault, anyway."

Dick spun around and glared at the man. Wally's ginger hair had faded over the years, becoming interspersed with gray and smile lines creased the edges of his eyes.

"I thought we agreed that that was only an accident?"

Wally sighed. They joked that karma had the last laugh every time the two friends went out in public and Dick was confused as being his son. The MoD's healing factor continued to heal the signs of aging on the younger man. Dick had stopped aging at the physical age of thirty-two, while others continued to grow older with each passing year.

It was forty years since that initial accident, and Wally was now fifty-five.

Dick had been forced to leave Gotham City a number of years ago to hide the fact that he had stopped aging. He had only recently returned to the city as his own son. He came back to step into the role of Batman as Bruce had finally agreed to retire. Considering that the man looked twenty-five years younger than his seventy years, it was agreed that it was about time.

For the sake of the mission, Bruce had allowed Dick to trim a few years off of him at different periods in order for Batman to continue to haunt Gotham's nights. He used his billions to disguise his youthful appearance by allowing the public to believe that Bruce Wayne underwent the plastic surgeon's knife every so often. But it wasn't feasible for that to continue. So, Bruce was retiring the cowl and prepared to pass on the torch to his protégé; the former-Robin; a crimefighter of some renown called Nightwing.

Although Nightwing would be disappearing from the world's view, Dick's own grown son; Bruce Grayson-Wayne, was himself a well-known hero called Nighthawk and would continue to fight at his father's side. Keeping it all in the family, as it were.

Dick sighed. "Do you want to come inside with me to see him, or do you want to wait out here?"

Wally hesitated. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Um, . . . "

Dick raised a hand. "Forget it. I appreciate you making the trip with me; you don't have to come in to see him."

"Thanks," Wally shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably. "He really does creep me out."

Dick understood completely. "No trouble. Say, you don't still have nightmares, do you?'

Wally rubbed the back of his neck. "Seldom ever anymore, thank God. But Artemis will every so often."

Dick winced at the thought of Wally's wife. She had eventually allowed Dick to heal her, as had all of the Young Justice team after a while. But hers had been the worst. Re-growing a limb was not for the faint of heart. It had been a long, painful, and traumatic experience for the both of them, but Dick didn't regret it in the least; only that it had been necessary at all.

* * *

Dick went through all of the security measures that had been set in place. Everything that included a password with voice recognition to thumbprint pad to the final retina scan; just to open the slot that allowed Dick to insert a specially-made key into the lock. There was a resonating thunk of the locking mechanism being disabled and the magnetic locks sliding out of place. The door slid open, and Dick stepped inside. Seconds later the sounds of the locks sliding back into place echoed in the chamber.

The trip to get here alone was daunting. It required a Zeta tube transfer and then an hour-long flight before the twelve hour haul with the dogsled team. The building was surrounded on all sides by one hundred miles of frozen tundra and members of the Wayne family or close family friends took turns caring for the prison's one inmate, two weeks at a time on a rotating schedule. Dick and Bruce were here far more often than any other.

Dick wasn't staying today, however. He was simply here for a visit. Forty years ago today, Dick had healed the Joker of his insanity. Thirty-nine years ago today, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne's valet and majordomo, had sacrificed his own sanity to gift Dick back his own. Dick always made the trip every year on this day.

The quiet was different. Usually he was greeted with laughter. Dick scowled as he pulled up the monitors. Four cameras graced each corner of the cell, leaving the prisoner with no place to hide. This prisoner was too dangerous to be granted full privacy; too dangerous to be allowed to remain at the manor. He had been moved here thirty-seven years ago after this set up had been completed with Justice League assistance.

A single chair graced the center of the room. The cell's lone occupant sat facing the direction of the special, double-plated, bulletproofed, plexiglass panel that took up one entire wall. The gas between the panels could be charged electrically to become clear or opaque in order to give the illusion of privacy to the inmate beyond. He sat, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees with his hand clasped in front of him.

He wasn't ill. Dick knew that without saying. Alfred Pennyworth had taken the brunt of a level seven blast from the Machine o' Doom all those years before. The only thing he couldn't heal was the madness that had plagued him for nearly four full decades. Dick moved from the monitors out of the locked room and into the hallway that led to the prison's one cell. He grabbed a chair and turned it around so he could straddle it; draping his arms casually across the back of it.

"I've come to visit you, Alfred," Dick said by way of greeting.

The figure didn't move. Dick frowned, but didn't fall for the bait. He just continued talking. There was no telling how Alfred would react at any given time. Early on, he would throw himself repeatedly at the glass; laughing, always laughing. Later on, he would hold strange conversations, punctuated with fits of manic giggling, that usually lifted the hair on the back of Dick's neck and left him uncomfortable for several days following.

He stared at the head of thick, dark-brown hair that had become more familiar than the balding pater that had once graced the former butler's crown. The MoD had taken years off of the aging, grandfatherly man. He looked to be the same age as Dick appeared; thirty two. In truth, the man inside the cell would be celebrating his ninety-ninth birthday in another six months.

"The family sends their love," Dick told him. That line was almost always guaranteed to get a reaction, but not this time it seemed.

Dick had been hesitant to speak to Alfred about his family at first. He worried if the man ever managed to escape his prison that he would become obsessed with the people that he and Bruce loved. But as his children grew up and began their own training, Dick realized that they weren't helpless targets anymore. He found himself wanting to share that part of his life with the man who had helped to raise him, even if he wasn't himself.

"I had thought to bring BJ up with me, but he had something big he was working on back in Gotham. Next time, though," Dick said. "He promised."

"BJ?" Alfred finally spoke. "Who is BJ?"

Dick blinked.

"You know BJ," he said, feeling uneasy that the question wasn't followed by the ever-present laughter. "He's been coming up with me to visit you for the past seven years."

"Seven years? Has it been that long, then?"

Alfred's British accent was back. Oddly enough, when he had absorbed the insanity from Dick all those years ago, the accent had left him. One might have never known that Alfred Pennyworth hadn't been born in the American mid-west.

Suspicion made Dick stand up. He walked around the chair and up to the plexiglass. "Alfred," he asked carefully. "Are you alright?"

"I didn't know how I came to be here," Alfred said; his voice wavered strangely. "It took me several days, but I eventually remembered."

Dick laid his hand onto the glass and stared. "What did you remember?"

"My decision . . . To save you from madness and Master Bruce from himself." Alfred looked up at last.

His breath caught in his throat. Clear brown eyes, wet with unshed tears, stared back at him. Without the horrifying grin and the manic laughter, Alfred Pennyworth was a handsome man . . . And, Dick realized suddenly, a sane one.

"Alfred! _Oh my God_! Alfred, you're back," Dick exclaimed. "Y-You are back, aren't you?"

"I say, it must have been longer than seven years. Look at how much you've grown," Alfred smiled warmly as he finally stood up and moved to examine his youngest charge. "You are a man now, through and through."

"When . . . How? Why didn't you say anything?" Dick shouted. "You could have been released already!"

Alfred smiled. "I was confused when I first found my way back. This looks nothing like the cell at the manor. I thought that perhaps you and Master Bruce had decided to put me into Arkham, after all."

"No! Never there, Alfred!"

"I would have understood. I went into this understanding the implications to all of it," he assured the man in front of him. "I felt it best to gain my bearings and clear my head before I said anything. I was a little worried that the sanity I had discovered was fleeting, but it's been three days now," Alfred told him. "No hint of the darkness has reared its head. No more laughter echoing in there." He tapped his temple, good-naturedly.

Dick stared hard. He had prayed for this day for years, but he was no fool. He needed to make certain that the insanity hadn't learned a new trick. God forbid that he let a mad man loose onto the unsuspecting world.

"Do you remember anything," Dick asked, attempting to reign in his hope to a more controllable level.

"I remember waking up in the Batcave and seeing the MoD device humming on the table. After that I remember going up to your cell with the intention of saving Master Bruce from making a dreadful mistake and helping you find your way back home." Alfred lifted a shoulder. "After that, just one, great, long nightmare filled with the presence of evil, continuous laughter, and the feeling that I was suffocating; being held under some thick, confining material of a sort."

It sounded somewhat similar to the one or two flashes of memory that Dick had of that dark time. They would occasionally haunt his nightmares even now.

"It obviously worked, I'm very happy to see," Alfred remarked. "But you hardly look like a fourteen year old boy anymore, Master Dick, nor even a young man of twenty-one. So, how long _did_ it take me to find my way home?"

Tears began sliding down Dick's face. "Too long, Alfred. Far, far too long."

After a moment of silence, Dick leaned his forehead against the plexiglass and whispered. "Thirty-nine years, Alfred. Almost four full decades since that day."

Shock settled on the elder man's face.

Elder . . . Dick almost laughed himself. He and Alfred looked like they were the same age.

"I . . . I see," Alfred stammered. After a short period of silent, his chin quivered slightly before he firmed it under that stiff British stoicism, and asked the question that was now haunting him. "And . . . And how is Master Bruce?"

Dick did laugh this time. "He's fine, Alfred! He's fine! He turned seventy years old this year, and he is finally retiring the cowl. I'll be stepping into the role of Batman now," he grinned, imparting the news.

"Dear heavens! Seventy years?! However could he have managed to stay active so long?" Alfred looked surprised, but pleased. He hadn't outlived his employer, the young man he had long thought of as his own son, after all.

Dick blushed slightly. "I may have had some small part in that," he admitted. "I've trimmed a few years from him on occasion, so that he could continue the mission." Dick grinned and shook his head. "All of Gotham makes jokes about Bruce Wayne's massive vanity complex. He's allowed them to believe that he visits the plastic surgeon on a regular basis. He looks and feels much younger than his seventy years, but he says it's time to allow nature to finally run its course."

Dick looked around. He would need to contact Bruce immediately. It would take the both of them to deactivate the security system in place in order to remove Alfred from his prison.

"I need to tell Bruce!"

"Wait!" Alfred laid a hand against the plexiglass much as Dick had done earlier. "Don't leave yet. There is time enough for that."

Dick returned to the clear wall. He pulled up the chair and sat down, as did the man within the cell.

"Tell me more," Alfred asked of him. "Who is this BJ you were telling me about earlier?"

Dick smiled. Tears of happiness streamed down his face, but he no longer cared. This was Alfred; _his_ Alfred sitting across from him! "BJ is Bruce John Grayson-Wayne . . . My son."

"You're son . . ." Alfred repeated with awe.

"You're going to love him," Dick declared confidently. "He's going to love you! As will all the rest of the family. Alfred, please! Let me go tell Wally at least. He can start the ball rolling," Dick begged. He leaned forward and touched the glass. "It's been years since I've had a proper Alfred hug!"

"Wally? As in Wally West?" Alfred smiled.

"Still best friends," Dick nodded. "He made the trip with me when BJ got hung up on a case."

Alfred frowned slightly; tilting his head in puzzlement. "A case?"

"A chip off of the old block, you could say, Alfie," Dick told him. "He's followed in his old man's footsteps. He's called Nighthawk."

"Nighthawk? Is that in homage to Batman, I wonder?"

Dick blushed a little. "It's in homage to Nightwing, which I guess you could say was in homage to Batman."

"Nightwing? And who is this fellow?"

At the other man's confusion, Dick promised to explain. He had a lot of catching up to do. It would take Bruce time to get here, and case or no case, once word spread that Alfred had finally defeated the Joker's insanity, BJ and maybe even the whole family, would be rushing to join him.

Four devastatingly long decades . . . But the madness that had created the Joker was finally gone. The world was safe and Alfred was back! Four decades and finally, _finally_ all was right in Dick's world at last.

* * *

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	45. ENDING THREE (CHARACTER DEATH)

**ENDING THREE: This is the tragic ending . . . Set five years later. Read it, but be prepared.**

 **WARNING: Strong Language, Extremely Disturbing Images and Topics, Alcohol Use, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH . . .**

* * *

"Come on, Dick," Bruce cajoled. "You have to eat."

Laughter answered him and another mouthful of pureed vegetables was spewed out onto him. Bruce closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He picked up the third cloth he had brought with him and wiped his face off yet again.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered. "Joker never acted this way. I read his files from Arkham, and nowhere does it list this sort of behavior in all the years he had spent there." Bruce glared at the young man in front of him. "So, why are you acting so different?"

He had hoped to watch Dick grow up into a fine young man, but sometimes reality has a something different in mind. Dick retained his striking bone structure, but without good nutrition, the high cheekbones and strong jawline merely added to the gauntness of his face. The truth was, Dick looked terrible.

He had ever since Bruce had agreed to give the MoD device another go two months ago.

* * *

All their research into the workings of the Machine o' Doom, as Wally had dubbed it long ago, had led them to come up with a variety of theories. That a second blast of the MoD would give Dick the extra oomph he needed to rid himself of the insanity that he had absorbed from the Joker five years ago in a bid to save his teammates and Gotham from certain death. That a second jolt from the device would possibly remove the healing factor altogether and leave Dick the same as he had been before the first accidental shot. The third theory was that it would not only remove his healing factor, but possibly also Dick's own natural immunity and put him at risk of every scratch and every germ out there. The fourth and last theory was that the machine would do nothing at all . . .

Two of the four theories would leave Dick no better or worse than he was now. One theory offered him salvation, while the last promised death swift and likely painful. Bruce had spent close to a year deliberating over every possible outcome verses leaving Dick as he was and hoping that someday in the not so distant future he would somehow snap out of it.

It wasn't until Alfred had decided the risk was worth it that Bruce had agreed to try it.

The day had been fraught with worry, and twice Bruce had nearly backed out of his decision. The first time Dick had been struck by the MoD's laser, the setting had been at its highest range: seven. It had been determined that any setting higher than five would have a ninety-five percent chance of killing him; so, the controls had been set at five and Dick had been placed in front of it; strait jacket and all. Bruce insisted on hitting the switch that released the laser's beam onto his son himself. It was _his_ decision; it would be _his_ responsibility.

Several Leaguers and Wally West had been present. Wally had been a loyal friend through this entire ordeal; coming to help care for Dick every weekend, and helping to give Bruce and Alfred a much needed break. It was only right for him to have been present when they tried the MoD again.

The blast had hit Dick with enough force to send him flying. Superman had caught him before he had been able to strike the cave wall several yards behind him. It wasn't until Clark had set Dick down that they realized that the laser had stopped his heart. Bruce and Alfred had been surrounded as they struggled to restart Dick's heart. Bruce refused to take the chance that Dick could heal himself from this . . . What if he couldn't? It took several minutes of CPR to bring his son back.

Then, Bruce had watched as tiny line of blood seep from a nick in Dick's lip received when he had bitten it as the laser had hit him. He had reached out to wipe the stream with his thumb. It had been with a falling heart that he had watched that line be quickly replaced with fresh streak of blood. The cut wasn't healing! That had meant that the only theories that remained viable were that Dick had been returned to normal minus his healing factor or that his own personal healing ability and immune system had been completely obliterated.

But had the madness been obliterated as well?

It was one of the greatest disappointments of his life when the laughter returned with Dick's consciousness. The cut had slowly stopped bleeding, and it was determined within a few days that Dick had been returned to normal when no infection was detected.

* * *

Laughter met his words, but it had taken on an odd tone since that day as well. Bruce wasn't sure how aware Dick was of his current predicament, but no joy was detected in him. Neither was he sure what even constituted joy in Dick's strange world, but there was no denying that his son wasn't happy in his existence.

That made two of them.

Bruce attempted once more to get his now eighteen year old son to take another bite of food. Dick jerked his head away from the spoon so vigorously that he nearly toppled from the cot. The strait jacket he wore and the leg restraints meant he had no way to catch himself. Bruce dropped the spoon to catch at the buckles and haul him back upright.

Dick bent his head to snap at his fingers, but Bruce was faster.

He hadn't always been faster. His hands bore several scars from the times when his reflexes had been off or when Dick's had just been better. Alfred, too, was scarred from the various incidents when the boy had struck out senselessly. Only Wally, when he came to take over Dick's care on the weekends, didn't bear marks. Not that Wally hadn't been injured . . . Dick had caught the speedster off guard on a number of occasions, but the marks from those times had not left a permanent reminder.

Bruce looked at his boy unhappily. Dick hadn't eaten enough, but it was obvious that dinner was finished.

 _His hair is too long._ The observation came out of nowhere, but, unfortunately, cutting it was a precarious thing. A scraggly beard covered Dick's lower face and was stained with tonight's vegetables. When Wally arrived this evening, the two of them with Alfred could do something about it. Bruce hated seeing Dick looking dirty and unkempt, but it was far less perilous to have the speedster cut and shave Dick while he and Alfred held him down.

Bruce picked up the spoon, keeping an eye out for any sudden movements. He dropped it into the bowl that was barely touched, sighing.

"You need to eat, son," he murmured.

He wasn't expecting an answer. Dick had stopped communicating after the third year, when conversation had degenerated into naught but grunts and threats. He hadn't said anything at all in the last two months, and Bruce wondered if the brief time without oxygen had damaged him more than they had realized.

So, it shocked Bruce to the core when Dick raised his head up and spoke.

"Let me go."

It was an ongoing thing for Dick to demand his release, so it wasn't the words themselves that gave Bruce pause. It was the soft, breathless quality to his voice, the almost rationale tone, and the tears that traced a path down his cheeks that made him hesitate.

"Dick?"

But the light in his eyes was merely the artificial lighting reflecting off of the moisture pooling there. The grin slid back into place, and the laughter renewed, and Dick began banging his head against the padded wall over and over again.

Why he felt so crushed was beyond him. Bruce had long ago lost his hope. Standing up, he heard the door behind him open. He handed the bowl and utensil to Alfred blindly. The threat wasn't on the other side of the door, after all.

"Help me," Bruce asked the elder man, and Alfred set the accoutrements aside to assist.

It was dangerous to leave the door propped, but the leg restraints were secure. The men ignored the laughter as they dragged the young man onto the cot and secured him there. It took the two of them to raise the head of the bed, but the past couple of months had prepared them for Dick's latest antics.

The teen tilted his head back and gagged himself.

They grimaced, but remained in the cell with him until they were certain that Dick couldn't asphyxiate on his own vomit. Only when the young man finally settled back, exhausted, did they prepare to leave.

"I'll come back with Master Wally and clean that up," Alfred said.

"We'll all come back," Bruce corrected. "He needs a shower and a shave tonight."

"Indeed," Alfred acknowledged.

* * *

The stale and sour smell of the room had gotten particularly strong. The stench couldn't be properly dealt with without a window and a fresh breeze, but with hot water and strong cleansers, it would be tolerable, at least.

Alfred looked at the stained floors and walls with distaste. It was time to replace the padding and waterproofed material that lined the room's every surface again. He made a note to contact Superman with a request for League assistance once he had ordered the new materials. The young master would need to be confined on the Watchtower in the interim.

A beeping alerted the two men that someone had entered through the front gate. The tone indicated the person had his own passcode.

"Is it that time already?" Bruce looked in the direction of the stairs.

"I'll meet Master Wallace while you change," Alfred murmured.

As Master Bruce headed off to his room, Alfred left to greet their most welcomed visitor.

He must be getting old, the butler mused. He had never before looked so forward to having a couple of days off. But then, never had life in the manor been so challenging either. He grimaced as he thought back to what he had just witnessed through the monitor.

It had almost sounded like their boy there for a second.

"Let me go . . ." Master Dick had said.

The butler's mouth turned down as he anticipated the return of their ongoing argument over the direction of Master Dick's care. It had been raging for the last two years with no promised end in sight. But then, he knew as well as Master Bruce that despite their debates, the results would never change. Everything would continue on as always, forever.

As much as it saddened him, Alfred also realized he would never be able to live with the alternative.

* * *

Wally let himself in the front door. After the first six months, Bruce had presented him with his own passcode and recorded him for the voice recognition program. It had taken another couple of years before the ginger-haired speedster actually grew comfortable visiting the home of billionaire, Bruce Wayne, however.

Well, the word _comfortable_ was probably stretching it a bit. There was nothing comfortable about his visits to Wayne Manor. Even less so today. Wally felt like he was here under false pretenses.

But he wasn't here to visit Bruce Wayne. He was here to see the man's son as he had been doing every weekend for the past five years. Ever since the Batman had taken the team into his confidence and told them Batman and Robin's secret identity.

It should have felt like an honor, but after the events of that last disastrous mission against Gotham's clown prince, it felt more anti-climactic than anything. The team, or what was left of it, were all in various stages of recovery. They had all been in different areas of emotional stability or . . . not. Not everyone took the news well.

Artemis had already begun withdrawing from everyone by this time. Wally had tried to help her cope, but the wounds in her leg given to her from the Joker's acid had become infected and there had been no choice left but to amputate . . . She began to pull away from him as well. She blamed her injuries on Robin in the beginning, and his constant manic laughter prevented her from seeing him as a victim himself. It had taken years before she could admit that the consequences of that mission had been no one's fault but the Joker's; that she hadn't been coerced into going by a boy less than a year out of childhood. But to this day, Artemis still didn't want anything to do with Robin.

It was why they had finally stopped seeing one another, because Wally refused to give up his weekends with Dick.

"He won't even realize it if you don't go one time," she had argued. "And even if he did, he certainly won't care!"

Wally had picked up his overnight bag and walked out.

She didn't understand his guilt. This was _his_ fault! Events would have turned out much differently had Wally just not turned on that blasted machine! Certainly Dick wouldn't, even now, be suffering from the Joker's madness. It could be argued that they would have all been dead otherwise, but what they all dealt with now could hardly be called a life.

Each of the members of the team had moved on. They all had scars, either emotional or physical, but they also managed to eke out an existence that didn't constantly revolve around that one event. All of them, that is, except for Robin. Robin had, for all intents and purposes, died in that basement five years ago. But then again, so too had the team.

Artemis and Aqualad had both left the business of crime fighting for physical reasons. M'gann had been sent back to Mars to recover. When she had awoken in that basement, M'gann had immediately tried to assess everyone's condition by mentally linking them. Wally still sometimes woke in a cold sweat to the sounds of her screams in his head. That brief glimpse into Robin's shredded mind had been enough to create a gulf between him and his teammates that would remain unbridgeable. That M'gann had chosen to remain on Mars rather than return to earth was unsurprising.

Only Superboy could claim something good as a result of that episode. That last shock given him by the neural collar had been so great it had taken him nearly two days to recover. Superman had sat by the clone's bed the entire time and it had been the start of the relationship that Conner had been longing for since the day that he, Robin, and Aqualad had helped him to escape Cadmus. Conner now split his time between staying in Smallville with the Kents and staying with Superman in Metropolis.

Unless something was dire, Wally didn't don the suit anymore. Superboy was the only one of them that was still active fighting criminals on a full time basis.

* * *

Sitting down his overnight bag by the stairs, Wally looked up. Dick was quiet today. That was odd. Usually Wally could hear sounds of muffled laughter even from the ground floor.

Bruce had refused to place the boy in Arkham. Wally had agreed with that assessment. Arkham was a revolving door to the criminally insane that it housed. He had, instead, created a special cell for Dick right here in the house with the help of Superman, Green Lantern, and Martian Manhunter. It was only supposed to be temporary. Dick was supposed to heal from the insanity he had absorbed, but it was five years later, and still there was no sign of the boy they had known and loved.

Two months ago, in an act of desperation, an attempt had been made to spur the healing. Batman had authorized using the MoD once more on Robin. It didn't have the effect they had hoped for. Instead of helping Dick throw off the madness, the device had merely removed the healing factor. Dick was normal once more, but the insanity apparently still had Dick's psyche firmly in its talons.

No more attempts were made with the MoD. It was finally dismantled and several key parts destroyed. Immortality was a dangerous thing to have lying about. If Dick was to never find his way back to himself, at least he wasn't doomed to suffer forever. It made things that much harder even as everyone breathed a sigh of relief. One worry was gone, even as another reared its ugly head.

Dick's health began to deteriorate.

But this was different. It wasn't illness that plagued the teen. This was new behavior, and it had started two months ago.

Dick began refusing to eat; spitting out his food and forcing himself to vomit. Although everyone consulted seemed to believe it was just another unforeseen facet to the insanity that was making him do this, Wally wasn't so sure. It wasn't something he could pin down exactly, but a part of him had begun to wonder at the underlying cause of this self-destructive behavior.

While Dick had had the healing factor, starvation would never have been an issue; his body would always somehow manage to recover despite the lack of nutrition. Of course, Dick had always been a skinny, little kid, and the healing factor hadn't actually changed this physical characteristic about him. But as he aged, Dick had continued to grow and fill out. Still he had remained lean; his genes adhering to Dick's acrobatic body type.

Since losing the healing factor, however, Dick had lost his lean build. He had become thin; too thin. The fact that he wasn't eating was beginning to show in an alarming fashion.

* * *

"It is good to see you again, Master Wallace," greeting Alfred as he made his way down the staircase. "How is the family?"

It was the same question Alfred asked him every Friday evening when Wally would show up at the manor. He long since decided that the butler was merely keeping up pretenses of good manners and really didn't care one way or the other. It hadn't always been like that, but the years tended to grind a fellow down; even one that sported that magnificent, British stiff upper lip.

"They're fine. Thank you for asking, Alfred," Wally said automatically. The conversation was rote by now.

"Master Bruce will be down momentarily," Alfred said as he picked up Wally's bag. "He wished to change first."

Wally would go up to his assigned room later and find everything put away neatly; either hung up in the closet or tucked away in one of the drawers. He hadn't had to pack a toothbrush, deodorant, or shampoo in years. Alfred had taken note of his preferences and his in-suite bathroom was always stocked on his arrival.

Alfred was nothing if not efficient.

He checked the time. "Ah, dinner time," he said knowingly, following the butler to his room. "I take it things didn't go down smoothly?"

"It is a most upsetting situation."

"I'm sorry that I wasn't here earlier." Maybe if Wally had been here . . .

"We can hardly complain about your tardiness," Alfred interjected. "Your presence isn't required although we are always _most_ grateful to have you."

"What are you trying to say, Alf?" He smiled at the elder man's back.

Alfred glanced back over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. "If you are searching for compliments, Master Wallace, you have to look no further. I, for one, have been anticipating the respite your visit brings in an almost undignified manner."

"Really?"

The butler's shoulders seemed to slump. "It has been an exceptionally difficult week."

Concern replaced his amusement. "How so?"

But they had reached the third floor.

Bruce had stopped hosting parties at the manor five years ago. It was worried that a guest might wander up to this hall, and that was if visitors didn't notice the sound of laughter. Wally knew Bruce could have made the cell completely soundproof, but being able to hear Dick's constant laughter was just another security measure. Silence was guaranteed to bring Bruce or Alfred up to investigate.

Bruce's room was at the end of the hall, next to Dick's cell. Alfred's was just opposite, and Wally's was on the other side of it. In fact, he shared a wall. In the beginning, it wasn't easy to fall asleep with the sounds and thumps that never seemed to stop. Now, however, the sounds were almost comforting. If you could hear him, then it meant that Dick was still where he was supposed to be and Gotham was safe.

He frowned at the quiet of the hall.

"I can't hear him," Wally commented, but the butler was already heading toward the cell door.

Bruce was exiting from his room wearing sweats and a t-shirt. He was still rubbing the dampness from his hair with a towel. He only acknowledged Wally with a nod; his mind obviously on the same concerns they were having. Silence in the manor _wasn't_ a good thing.

"What's going on, Alfred," Bruce asked as he met them.

"Oh no," Alfred murmured, his hand fumbling for his key.

"What's happening?" Wally couldn't see past Alfred's head.

"He's seizing," the butler explained; yanking open the door.

Bruce and Wally followed Alfred into the room at a run. Dick's back was arched hard and his head turned back and forth as if he were in great amounts of pain. He fell back onto the bed only to rear up again almost immediately. Bloodied foam gathered at his mouth, and when Dick choked, more blood sprayed upward splattering Bruce in the face and staining his clean shirt.

"Wally," Bruce barked as he and Alfred attempted to hold Dick down. "Call Leslie!"

"I'll do one better," Wally yelled, and then he was gone.

Barely a minute later he reappeared at the door, settling the ruffled doctor on her feet.

"What the hell, Bruce," she snapped. "I was in the middle of . . ." her voice trailed off as her brain caught up with the activity in the room. "Good Lord! What happened?"

"I have no idea," he admitted. "He was fine when Alfred and I left the room only thirty minutes ago!"

"He is still experiencing difficulty keeping things down," Alfred volunteered.

"I can see that," Leslie muttered.

It was obvious that Bruce and Alfred hadn't had time to clean up after feeding Dick. The smell alone was almost enough to send Wally running from the room. Now Dick's blood joined the rest of the mess.

Bruce pried Dick's mouth open and Leslie used the edge of Bruce's towel to soak up the blood in order to determine wear it was coming from as Alfred and Wally helped hold the teen down. Despite the fact that he hadn't been eating properly, holding Dick down was hard work.

"I don't . . . Oh, God!" Leslie gasped. "He's bitten his tongue! That's where the blood is coming from."

"That much blood?" Wally was surprised.

She pulled a pair of scissors from her pocket, an item that would never normally make it past the doorway, and began slicing the towel into strips. She yanked out a couple of tongue depressors and wrapped each of them in strips of terrycloth. One by one she shoved the wads into each side of Dick's mouth, effectively holding it open.

"He's almost severed it," she told him. "So yes, that much blood. I need to knock him out. I can't stop the bleeding while fighting him. Bruce . . ."

"I got it. Wally, take over here." Bruce snapped.

"I'm faster. Just tell me where it is," Wally argued.

"It's in my room," Bruce told him. "But the cabinet's locked, and you don't know which syringe Leslie needs."

Wally blinked as he moved into Bruce's place; shoving at Dick's shoulder and chest with all of his strength. "How many syringes do you have?"

"One for every occasion," Leslie muttered. "We only use them for emergencies. Bruce and I agree that we don't want to drug him unless it is absolutely necessary."

Wally thought back to all those times they had been forced to wrestle a psychotic Dick into the shower. It might have been nice to have had a little medical assistance. Several of those times it had felt pretty goddamned necessary.

It seemed like a hundred years before Bruce was back, syringe in hand.

"Turn him over," Leslie ordered.

Wally gaped at her. "Does it really matter where you inject him?"

She didn't even glance at him. "Some places are more effective than others, but also he's choking on the blood. Turning him over means less blood to have to pump out of his lungs later."

Oh. Well. When she put it _that_ way . . .

* * *

It had taken several more long moments before the drugs took effect. Wally watched numbly from the side as Leslie and Alfred stripped Dick of the strait jacket and worked feverishly over his friend. He felt superfluous; unneeded and in the way. Bruce had showered and changed once more, but Wally still wore the same blood-splattered clothes he had arrived in.

"Why don't you take a moment to get cleaned up," he suggested, quietly.

"How many times has this happened," Wally blurted out.

"What?"

He gestured at the grim tableau just a few feet in front of them. The room was too small to comfortably harbor five full-grown adults, but no one wanted to leave.

"This," he snapped. "You have a cabinet full of drugs and medical supplies in your room, Bruce!"

"Wally, you've been coming here for the weekend for the past five years. In that time, you've witnessed how many injuries have occurred when dealing with Dick. There are five more days of the week that you aren't here. Do you think nothing happens while you're gone? I would think that having a cabinet full of medical supplies nearby would be considered prudent." Bruce asked him; being annoyingly reasonable.

And it was . . . prudent. But Wally couldn't shake the feeling that had come over him as he watched the practiced and easy movements of Alfred and the doctor. The thoughts that were drifting through his head weren't nearly so easy.

"He bit off his tongue, Bruce!" Wally's voice rose in his growing agitation. "And Leslie said just a few minutes ago that this wasn't a seizure at all. Dick bit off his tongue on purpose! Why do you suppose that is?"

"Dick isn't in his right mind, Wally. Why would you think that he would act in a way that seems reasonable to you," Bruce countered.

"Oh, I don't know . . . Maybe because Joker had never tried to bite off his tongue before. Why would Dick? Isn't what Dick is suffering from the same as the insanity that Joker lived with for years?"

Bruce sighed. "Joker had an outlet. He acted on his aggressive tendencies by lashing out at others. Dick doesn't have that sort of luxury here. Because he is monitored so closely, he's not had the opportunity to harm others. So . . . he harms himself."

"That's it? That's your argument?" Wally wasn't convinced.

"Joker has been known to self-harm."

"To the extent of starving himself and biting off his own tongue in an effort to drown himself in his own blood?" Wally stared at him. "I don't think so, Bruce."

The tension in the elder man's carriage seemed to double. He turned away to watch Leslie finish the last of the stitches.

"What are you trying to say, Wally," Bruce asked finally. "Go on. Speak your mind. Don't keep us in suspense."

"He's miserable, Bruce," Wally cried out. "Dick is still in there somewhere, and he's wanting out!"

Bruce turned on Wally so fast, that even the speedster was surprised.

" _Do you think I don't know that_ ," Bruce snarled furiously. "Do you think I don't _care_ that my son is trapped inside his own body; inside his own mind without a hope of ever finding his way back? He's lost to this madness, Wally! I search every single day for just a glimpse of him; a glimmer . . . something; _anything_! But it is only the insanity that ever stares back at me!"

Wally stepped back at the man's vehemence.

"So, what is it, Wally? What would you have me do?"

He didn't know what would come out of his mouth. If anyone had asked him later, Wally would have said his mind was a blank at that moment.

"Let him go."

The words were whispered, but they had the effect of a cannon going off in that small room. Leslie and Alfred turned to face him and the unnatural silence of that moment weighed on him like a hundred tons.

Bruce tilted his head and stared at him with an odd expression.

"W-What . . . What did you say?"

 _Shut up, Wally_! _Just shut the_ fuck _up_! _Shut up; shut up; shut up_ . . .

"I said, let him go, Bruce. You need to let him go."

Long moments passed . . . No one moved. No one said a word. Alfred and Leslie weren't staring at Wally, however. They were staring at Bruce.

"I-I can't."

The words were as soft as Wally's had been, but the anguish that they held was the same as if he had screamed them. As Wally watched, moisture gathered in Bruce's eyes until one fat drop escaped and slid down the man's cheek.

He was shocked. Wasn't this man the Batman standing before him? Where was this level of emotion coming from?

It wasn't that Bruce didn't have emotions. Wally knew that Bruce cared deeply for Dick, but . . . He didn't _show_ it! Bruce didn't wear his heart on his sleeve for everyone to see, and damned if Batman showed anything at all.

"I love him, Wally," Bruce choked out. "I love him too much to let him go."

Silence followed . . .

"I'm sorry. I can't," Bruce whispered finally. "I'm not . . ."

Wally watched as the man turned around to leave without finishing his sentence. He stopped only to briefly run a hand through Dick's too long mess of tangled hair. To his surprise, Bruce leaned down and pressed a kiss to his son's sweaty brow.

"I'm sorry, Dick," he said against his boy's forehead. "I just . . . I can't." He left the room without looking back.

* * *

After several long moments, Wally cleared his throat.

"How long will that sedative work, doctor?"

Leslie seemed to snap out of herself. "Oh, um . . . Not long; maybe another fifteen minutes at most. That's why Alfred and I set up this IV earlier. I didn't want to risk him coming out of it in the middle of the procedure."

"I'll bring in some towels and supplies," Alfred offered. "Now would be a good time to clean him up."

Wally spoke up. "Don't bother, Alfred," he said. "I know where everything is. I'll do it. If you want to get me a pair of shears and a safety razor, I'll even cut his hair and shave him for you."

"That's not necessary, Master Wallace. I can handle this if you want to go clean up and change before dinner."

"No, Alfred," Wally insisted. "I came here to help, remember? If he's going to be out for a little while longer, I can handle this myself."

"He'll be waking shortly, though," Leslie reminded him once more as she packed up the medical supplies and waste.

Wally smiled. "I'm a speedster, remember?"

"Very well, sir," Alfred conceded. "I'll lay the scissors and razor on the table outside the door."

"That's fine," Wally agreed. He had less than fifteen minutes . . . More than enough time for a speedster.

* * *

Wally set the razor inside the bowl of water, and wiped Dick's face with a towel. He looked cleaner, but not necessarily better. With the haircut and without the beard, the gauntness was even more noticeable. He took the last of the supplies and set them outside of the door.

Wally had only taken the IV drip out a short time ago. Dick would be coming around soon. It was only because of the drugs that the door had been left open and Wally left alone. Normally, he doubted even the drugs would have been excuse enough to forego the house rules concerning Dick, but the last hour had been fraught with stress and emotional trauma. Leslie had left to go home, and Alfred and Bruce had retreated to the kitchen.

He moved back into the room and stared down at the man who had once been his best friend. The loss of muscle mass meant that Wally could count Dick's ribs. He noted each and every bruise and scratch that marred the skin. Not even the restraints had prevented Dick from injuring himself.

Right now, a new strait jacket lay on the floor awaiting Wally to put it on the younger man. His leg restraints dangled from the cot, unused. Dick lay in naught but a pair of flannel pajama bottoms on fresh, clean sheets. He looked like he was sleeping; peaceful. Lord knew that this was a sight rarely witnessed anymore.

Wally sat on the side of the cot and waited.

It didn't take long.

He watched Dick's eyes begin to dart beneath his lids. Wally wondered what dreams his friend was having. Dick's head jerked to the side and back as he became agitated.

Wally sighed. It seemed that Dick found no lasting peace, not even in his dreams.

Dick sighed heavily and his eyes cracked open. Wally knew the drugs would keep him calm and mellow for a while longer. It would take time for them to wear off enough that Dick would be able to move with any sort of coordination.

"Hi," Wally said.

Dick's lips lifted into a sleepy smile.

Wally's breath caught. Was this him? Was this his friend?

"I've missed you," he told him.

Dick blinked.

"Are you ever coming back," Wally asked. He didn't expect Dick to answer him, and he didn't. Not in words, anyway.

Dick looked sad all of a sudden, the gentle smile sliding away. So sad . . . And then, all too quickly, the smile was back. It grew until it was stretching the sides of his mouth almost painfully. Dick chuckled, but the look in his eyes were of panic and fear and . . . Something else. A plea? A tear formed and slithered into Dick's hairline.

The chuckling grew louder, more manic.

He was losing him. He had only a few minutes more before Dick would become a danger to both Wally and himself.

"It's okay, Dick. It's all right now. I heard you," he reassured his friend. "Loud and clear."

. . . His very _best_ friend. He knew he would never have another friend who was better Dick Grayson. _What would you be willing to do for your best friend_? Wally already knew the answer to that question.

Wally picked up the pillow. "And I love you, too."

* * *

Wally entered in the kitchen a short time later.

Bruce and Alfred glanced over at him, startled. He was still wearing the soiled clothing from earlier. The young man's face was pale and his eyes were huge, but he looked almost as though he were in shock.

Fear shot through him, causing Bruce to catch his breath.

"Wally?"

"It's okay now, Bruce," Wally told him. "Everything is all right now."

He set his coffee cup down with a bang. Hot liquid splashed out over his hand, but it went unnoticed.

"Wally, what happened? Is Dick all right?"

Wally smiled sadly. "Dick is fine now."

Ice formed in Bruce's gut. "Wally, what did you do?"

"What you couldn't," Wally told him.

When a tear formed and dropped from Wally's eyelash, Bruce jumped to his feet so quickly that the chair crashed back behind him.

"What did you _do_ ," Bruce repeated his demand.

"What he's been begging us to do for the past five years. I let him go," Wally said simply. "Robins were never meant to be caged, Bruce. I just set him free."

Bruce was shaking his head in denial. "No."

"I'm sorry, Bruce," Wally told him softly. "I loved him too. Too much to leave him this way any longer."

" _Dick_?" Bruce was yelling as he shoved Wally out of his way.

He ran up the stairs and skidded to a halt. The door was wide open. Alfred caught up with him and stopped beside him. Neither said a word as they moved slowly to the entrance of Dick's cell.

* * *

He looked like he was sleeping. It had been so long since Bruce has seen Dick sleep; really sleep. His vision blurred and he moved forward without conscious thought; until he was standing beside the cot and looking down at his son.

He dropped down to sit next to the unmoving boy . . . Man, he corrected himself. Dick had grown into a man in this tiny padded room. His hand hovered, as if by not touching him Bruce could put off reality for just another moment.

Dick's face was . . . peaceful. Relaxed. The slightest of smiles lifting the corners of his lips. As if he were dreaming of something pleasant.

Bruce's hand ran through the still damp strands. Wally had done a good job cutting it. The stray thought caught him off guard.

"He looks good, doesn't he, Alfred?" His voice cracked.

"Indeed, h-he does, s-sir," the butler's voice shook.

Bruce scooped Dick up in his arms and held him. It had been so long . . . so long since he had just held him like this. His boy. His son . . .

It felt different holding him now than it had before. That was because Dick had grown a lot in the last few years. It was hard to tell since measuring him had been next to impossible, but Bruce had guessed that Dick had reached at least 5' 7" or perhaps even 5'8". He probably hadn't reached his final height yet, but they had all known that Dick would never have achieved Bruce's own 6'2" stature.

Bruce held Dick's head to his chest and rested his face against that soft, black hair. He smelled like shampoo.

He was still warm . . . The realization caught him off guard, as did his sob. And the one following it.

 _This wasn't supposed to be how this ended_! Dick was supposed to have had a better life than his. Bruce wasn't supposed to have been left alone again . . . Abandoned by the ones he loved at the behest of a cruel and exacting fate.

"My boy . . ." Bruce wept. ". . . My son!"

* * *

Night had fallen before Bruce walked back into the kitchen. Wally sat at the counter, but it wasn't coffee he was nursing between his hands. The speedster had found his way to Bruce's liquor cabinet and to a bottle of twelve year old Scotch that was kept within; although judging by the height of the whiskey still in the bottle, very little had actually been consumed.

Wally set the glass aside and turned to face him.

"I'm ready," he said.

Bruce blinked glassy, blood-shot eyes at him; finally focusing on the only other person in the room.

"Ready for what," he asked, numbly. His voice was hoarse; strained.

"For you to take me into custody," Wally told him, frowning.

Bruce stared at him as if not comprehending what the younger man was saying.

"I'm a _murderer_ , Bruce. I _killed_ him," Wally spoke with a quiet desperation.

Bruce shook his head as he walked further into the room. He picked up Wally's untouched glass, drained the contents, and poured himself several fingers more.

"You're not a murderer, Wally," Bruce scoffed. "You didn't kill Dick."

Wally blinked at Bruce's words. His heart began pounding. Could it be? Part of him begged for this to be true and for his best friend to still be alive, but Wally had been careful. He had checked for a pulse before placing the pillow behind Dick's head and closing his eyelids. If he had somehow screwed this up, Wally knew he would never be able to bring himself to the sticking point again.

"But . . . I did," he insisted. "I know I did. I checked . . ."

"You _freed_ him," Bruce interrupted. "You're his _liberator_ , Wally, not his killer. Robin's free . . . at long last."

"He's really . . ." Wally stopped and tried to swallow past the lump caught in his throat. "H-He's really . . ."

He couldn't say it. Why couldn't he say the words? The tears were suddenly flooding his previously dry eyes. Wally dropped his head into his hands and began to sob; sliding to the floor as if his heart broke.

* * *

When finally the tide ebbed and Wally could breathe once more; he found himself sitting on the floor, leaning against the kitchen island. Bruce stood beside him; one hand resting lightly in his hair.

It took him several minutes before he could climb to his feet and face his best friend's adopted father. Wally scoffed at that one. One look into the grief-filled eyes of the elder man put that foolishness to rest. For despite the cold, harsh composure of the Batman and the restrained, aloof affection of Bruce Wayne, the man before him had loved Dick Grayson enough to give him everything he had to give; his home, his wealth, his name and his heart. He knew without saying that Bruce would have given Dick his life as well without a second thought.

Bruce Wayne was Dick Grayson's father in every way that mattered.

Not knowing what else to say to the man, Wally stammered, "I'm s-sorry."

Bruce gave his shoulder a firm squeeze.

"Go home, Wally," he told him carefully. The glazed look was gone, and in its place was hard glare. "Go home . . . And don't _ever_ step foot in Gotham City again."

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **This one was so difficult to write. Even going back and editing it has me weeping yet again.**

 **I can't imagine that I'll write another tragedy. It takes too much out of me. But despite that, in this particular version, this was a "good", if heartwrenching, ending. Please, if you read this one, tell me what you thought of it, which of the three endings you liked the best and why!**


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